


Figli Di Nessuno

by ellyiggy



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones, Alternate Universe - Westeros, Child Abuse, Dark Past, Dolci banane, Dorne, Ermal!Greyjoy, Fabrizio!FacelessMan, Fluff and Angst, Game of Thrones References, Heavy Angst, House Greyjoy, Hurt/Comfort, I've come to write for you again, M/M, MetaMoro, MetaMoro!GameOfThronesAU, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Romance, Slow Burn, a lot of easter eggs, e il suo Bizio, hello angst my old friend, just like a fairytale, pulcino, with angst...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellyiggy/pseuds/ellyiggy
Summary: You don't need to have seen or read Game of Thrones to understand this fic.The day Fabrizio recrossed the gates of Sunspear he did so using his own face; it almost felt like coming home, if a Faceless Man could still pretend to have a home to call his own.Walking down the city streets to the boardwalk, Fabrizio got reacquainted with his memories of a past long thought forgotten, a life buried long ago under the sandy lands of Dorne. He forced himself to focus on his current goal: find and assassinate on the Iron Islands’ behalf the young lord Greyjoy, the wanna-be heir to the Seastone Chair now in hiding in the remote southern reign. His intended target was a kingslayer and a traitor.It should have been an effortless mission. It should have been easy.At the time Fabrizio couldn’t have imagined how much Prince Ermal would touch his life, his morals, and his heart.~~~~~~~~~~It was always a pleasure for Ermal to read the starting line of an adventure, to read atlases packed with a wealth of reference information, to read time-worn chronicles of illustrious figures…





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally delved into the world of Game of Thrones, and I was inspired to write something revolving around Ermal and Fabrizio in that setting. However, it isn't anything exact; I've only taken some details from the GoT universe, but nothing that'll confuse if you haven't seen the show or read the books. 💛💙

_Dicono che questa vita_

_è una lunga corsa_

_e il resto non si sa_

It was always a pleasure for Ermal to read the starting line of an adventure, to read atlases packed with a wealth of reference information, to read time-worn chronicles of illustrious figures...well, just _to read._

That day, it was late in the afternoon when Ermal seemed to be occupied with reading a rather interesting historical book, dealing with anecdotes of old wars and descriptions of different cultures. He was comfortably sitting alone by the window, an arm rested on his knee, while the other held the book; the small hearth in the corner of his room warmed his bare feet, but it did not stop the cold air from freezing his hands. From up there, Ermal could easily let his eyes gaze in the far distance from his chambers, high in the tower of the castle, so he temporarily ignored his reading and watched the foam-covered waves topple over each other and then slide back into sea. The crashing water competed with the loud screeches of the seagulls. Eventually, his book turned out to be even more appealing than his beloved and wayward sea, and Ermal’s full attention was reserved to the vivid illustrations of exotic costumes and primitive maps of distante lands.

As he was idly flicking through the pages, the sudden barking of a dog caused Ermal to flinch slightly. Such a sound wasn’t, by no means, ordinary to hear in the Iron Islands, dogs were actually atypical creatures for that territory and only few of them lived there. Driven by curiosity, Ermal took a look outside the window to see what was happening, and what he saw left him completely dazed: a sinewy man with a hunting hound was crossing the swaying rope bridge connecting the towers of the castle. At first, by the way he was adorned, Ermal ingenuously assumed the man was a sort of common delegate from a nearby region, for the dispatch of ambassadors was not that uncommon in those days, due to the rising tensions between the Houses in Westeros. With a more careful look, however, it became clear that the man wasn’t an ordinary man. And if the hound alone weren’t a sufficient hint, the man was clearly wearing on his chest a sigil with a red flayed man on a pink strewn. He was an envoy of the Boltons.

***

The pale moonlight cast a soft white glow on the reflective water, providing just enough light to reveal the general shape of Pyke Castle, offering Ermal sufficient visibility to be able to escape.

He was running fervently, cold sweat rolling down his skin in thick, salty beads. His skin shuddered and he could feel his brain starting to defocus, searching for a possible way out. The castle, its towers, and the walls were made of the same grey-black stone of which the rest of the island was composed, and although it wasn’t a night covered in pitch darkness, Ermal struggled to define the dark lines, to see something more than his own feet.

Ermal had seen darkness before, the kind of gloomy darkness that robbed you of your best sense and replaced it with a paralysing fear. He had learnt to dread it and then to tame it. He was _familiar_ with it. But this time, he felt like a prey in this utter black, his dilated pupils scanning for the best gateaway.

One after the other, shouts erupted from within the massive Great Keep, the same place Ermal was escaping from. A particularly too close and distinctive voice reached his ears, allowing him to grasp what they all were yelling “ _T_ _he king is dead!_ _Block the gate_ _s_ _!”_ _._ Ermal suddenly stopped and grimaced bitterly, the weight of what he had just done swept over him, it sloppily insinuated inside his mind, making his skin crawl, and his body shudder. Nevertheless, he forced himself to pick up his pace, because the shouting was gradually coming closer and closer, and remaining where he was meant a guaranteed death sentence, and not a painless one either.

The walls and his surroundings began to blur as he raced, running frantically to avoid his pursuers. He still had to cross the great stone bridge before arriving to the mainland; he could feel his heart throbbing inside his chest as he slowly passed over the last bridge of the castle. The long bridge curled away coldly into infinite dark, the dim light that showed the rough stones dwindling as it snaked away behind Ermal. The walls of Pyke ran in a crescent moon from cliff to cliff, with the gatehouse, located in the central portion of the wall, just a few steps from Ermal’s sight. He hastened, not caring about the ache in his tired legs and the hammering of his heart, until he finally reached the gate and ran down the cliff, leaving his home behind his shoulders. Yet, he neither stopped nor turned around, with eyes fixed in front of him, he kept on running faster and faster. His feet dragged noisily on the ground, the deafening sound of them teasingly echoing in his head, he wanted to stop it, but all he could do was keep on stepping on twigs and kicking stones.

It was only when he thought he wouldn’t make it, when the exhaustion crept over him and he was certain he would be found, that Ermal finally reached his destination: the dock of Pyke.

Nestled among giant rough rocks, right near the dock, there was a small wooden cottage with the dark shutters closed and a tall oaken door at the entry. Ermal approached the door and took himself a moment to catch his breath before knocking twice. The yelling from the castle was still audible though not so close anymore, and Ermal felt anxiety mercilessly lingering on his stomach as he waited for the door to open. Few minutes later, a bearded man came to open the door. He looked like he had just woken up and not exactly happy to ha _ve visitors_ in the middle of the night.

The instant the door was yanked open, both surprise and confusion were painted on the older man’s face. His visit was wholly unexpected, yet Ermal wasted no time, not waiting for the other to ask him inevitable questions but spitting words out, impatient to eradicate them from his own mind where they had been taking root, “Dino, I need your help!”

Ermal was speaking, though Dino was not paying attention, for he was observing him with rapt attention, his gaze trained on Ermal’s clothing. His shocked expression engendered a shade of momentary dismay in Ermal’s eyes: in the rush of his urgent escape he hadn’t noticed the blood smearing his elegant shirt. Not only were his clothes covered in fresh blood, expanding blood stains dirtied even his right forearm up to his wrist. Instinctively, he pressed a hand against the stains, in a worthless attempt to hide the blood and clean it away.

“Are you injured?”

Ermal lowered his gaze, taken aback by the abrupt question, focusing on an insignificant point somewhere between his feet. “No...it-it’s not mine.” He was perfectly aware that it was a scarce explanation, and a very poor one indeed, but if nothing else, he managed to reassure Dino a little by making him understand that the blood on him wasn’t his own.

Dino sighed, noticing the anxiety and the panic rising in the younger’s brown eyes, thus uttering in a calm and slow tone, “Ermal, tell me what happened”.

“No no...Dino I can’t explain right now, I really need to get out of the Iron Islands.” Truth be told, the young fugitive did not get to Dino’s abode casually; on the contrary, he had a good reason: the man was actually the watchman of the dock of Pyke Isle, so he was supposed to keep and take care of the smaller boats and, above all, to check who had the right to set foot on the island and who instead could leave it. Such a role obviously brought along the blind trust on the part of the lords and of the Lord of the Iron Islands himself, for this reason Ermal wouldn’t run the risk to be looked for in that place because no one would suspect and doubt the guardian’s loyalty. The both of them were taken by surprise when the sweet voice of a drowsy little girl filled the air.

“Daddy, who’s there..?”

Thanks to the kind sound of his beloved daughter’s voice, Dino relaxed visibly, an easy smile appeared on his face before he answered as calmly as possible. “It’s a friend, Aurora, go back to sleep”. Dino didn’t miss the way Ermal’s lips almost imperceptibly curved at the child presence, but he neither missed the way his hands were trembling uncontrollably and how the tendons in his neck were standing out, with a visible pulse...

“Please...Dino, help me. I can’t do this alone”. Ermal was in the verge of tears, hopelessness now encumbering over him.

Just the mere thought of seeing Ermal crying was enough for Dino’s expression to soften, “It’s alright Ermal. You don’t have to tell me anything, I know you well enough to trust you. You can count on me, my friend.” The idea of giving him a hug of encouragement nearly touched his mind, but it withdrew as soon as he realised how nervous and shaken Ermal was.

A shy “Thank you” was all Ermal managed to say.

From the rock upon which stood Pyke Castle, came not only enraged shouts but also the threatening sound of feet rapidly stamping on the ground, running in search of the traitor regicide, which meant that Dino had little time to let Ermal escape before the guards finally came and found him. He quickly left the house, closing the door behind him, and ordered Ermal to follow him as silent as possible. In a matter of few minutes, they reached the small dock situated next to the house. It was evident that there weren’t really a lot of boats due to the limited dimensions of the small dock, in fact, since there was no safe anchorage at Pyke, bigger ships sailed to nearby Lordsport, the large town located near a wooded point with pine-clad bluffs, whose main benefit was to provide safe anchor for those who wished to reach the castle of Pyke. Nevertheless, Ermal found what he was so desperately looking for: a decent small boat useful enough to reach the opposite shore.

Dino gently helped him to get in a boat with a lateen sail and proceeded to attend to the adjustment of the mooring lines, releasing the knot from the dock. A bit far away, the ocean lapped at the sand leaving its lacy foam to trail the waves as they retreated. Just when Ermal thought it was time to go, Dino unexpectedly took his upper long shirt off and threw it in the boat, towards a perplexed Ermal.

“You can’t go around with bloodstained clothes...especially if it’s the dead king’s blood we’re talking about. Just wear that and you will, at least, avoid some over-suspicious troublesome looks.”

Ermal gave him a watery smile in response and gave him a quick nod.

“Good luck, my friend. _What_ _i_ _s_ _d_ _ead_ _m_ _ay_ _n_ _ever_ _d_ _ie._ ”

“What is dead may never die. Goodbye, Dino.”

At last, Ermal succeeded in abandoning the dock, leaving a worried Dino behind his back. He was adamant to flee from those islands as soon as possible, though with tight shoulders and dizziness, weakness in his legs and knees.

The total lack of sound was soon able to soothe his nerves a little, steadying his breath. However, the eerie darkness coerced Ermal into coming to terms with the deprecable action he committed. A sudden and overwhelming sensation of dread floated all over him, clenching his jaw and making him blink rapidly. But Ermal was used to being under constant assault from fear, he was basically grown up with fear and that meant that he had at least learnt to cope with it.

His next move was to grip the board of the boat, knuckles going white, and to do what made him always feel better: staring at the stars above him. The stars were visible somewhere behind the haze of black cloud that was stretched thinly above, and the transitory moonlight bleached the grey-scale world momentarily. In that black serenade, the waves came, transient yet always there, rising and falling in a sweet rhythm, like music to Ermal’s ears. And scattered all above them, the stars were a choir; mesmerizing lights that sung in infinite patterns.

Sometimes, Ermal needed this kind of music, he needed to lose himself in that paper horizon.

And the clearer was the night the sweeter was the song.

Fortunately, that night the wind was fair, there were small wavelets, crests of glassy appearance, so the sail was moving regularly. After many hours on the boat, Ermal finally managed to cross Ironman’s Bay and reached his destination: the shore of Banefort.

Banefort was actually situated near the Iron Islands, and was only half a day's sail from Pyke. Its castle was the seat of House Banefort, a noble house sworn to House Lannister.

Although Ermal’s highest priority was to escape without any idea whatsoever of what he would do once left the Iron Islands, during those long sailing hours he had had a lot of time to think and clear his head. And he did think about his next moves: for starters, he had to get to Banefort without being caught, then he would search an efficient hiding place and, hopefully, he would be able to hide and embark on some departing ship.

It was late in the morning when Ermal got out of his little boat and set foot on the ground, elated to finally feel earth below his feet. Dino’s boat was carelessly abandoned on the shore, on a well-hidden corner of the dock, so that no one might have seen him arriving. Despite the cold weather, the sun was peering through the clouds, and cheerful voices could be heard from the center of the small town. Ermal soon found out that the voices hailed from the town square, where people of every age were attending the daily market. Taking a look wouldn’t certainly harm him, after all, the guards were probably still looking for him in the Iron Islands. Besides, Ermal had to admit that he was starving since he hadn't eaten in a day, maybe more.

The market was crowded with so many people that Ermal, at first, felt out of place, used as he was to spending time alone or with the few people in the castle. Among chattering young girls and playing kids, there were dozens of counters selling fresh fruits , imported vegetables, and fish, and Ermal eyed up a stall full of red apples, sold by an old man. He had always been averse to any form of theft, but, admittedly, he was truly hungry and those apples looked way too tempting. With a careful movement, he managed to grab an apple and cast it under Dino’s large tunic. Still, even after taking the first bite of the piece of fruit, Ermal couldn’t help but feel terribly guilty about it.

He was hiding in a narrow alley near the town square so that he could eat his apple in peace, away from prying eyes. He was limply leaned against the wall of a disheveled building, left without energy from the events of the previous night and the exhausting crossing of Ironman’s Bay. He needed to exploit these calm moments to gather his thoughts and decide how to proceed thereafter.

On his way back to the market, Ermal was withdrawn from his thoughts the second he heard two young women talking about how Banefort port would be soon full of ships ready to depart for some far away places. The blonde woman was cheerily describing the wonderful, exotic products which could be found on those ships, soon to be sold and traded in exchange for local ones.

An abrupt realisation struck Ermal: the wisest thing to do was definitely embark and hide in one of those leaving ships, optimistically the one whose destination was as far away as possible from his homeland. He headed towards the port with haste, fearing to be caught up by some Ironborn guards. Between some huge sailing ships decorated with the Lannister sigil and a handful of poorer boats with little amount of goods, not for a moment had Ermal thought he would find a ship he was quite familiar with.

Indeed, he knew the captain of the ship and it wasn’t long before Ermal found out that the ship was directed towards Sunspear, the capital of Dorne. Being the southernmost of the Seven Kingdoms, it consequently turned out to be the perfect destination for Ermal to start a new life; as a matter of fact, Dorne was located too far south from the Iron Islands and, surely, no Ironborn would dare to venture into such a distant kingdom, even when it came to the their king's murderer.

He cleverly mingled among the crewmen and managed to get on the ship when the sun was still up, and the men were starting to load the ship with goods to sell. Ermal went below deck and found the place reserved for the merchandising. He was aware that the most sensible thing to do was blending among the selling products. Therefore, when he saw a big trunk filled with a wide selection o f fascinating fabrics and textiles stacked one above the other, he didn’t think twice before throwing himself inside the cozy trunk, trying to become as small as possible in order to put the fabrics all over him, so that he was wholly hidden by them.

In the meantime, on the deck of the ship, the sailmen were getting everything ready for the departure and a very stressed captain was scattering orders here and there. He was a rather old man, though outstandingly witty and lively for his age. His trustworthy quartermaster walked towards him, holding a too long list with the goods to check for the last time before finally leaving the port. Just the mere sight of it scared the captain, who started to grumble and sigh. “I know, Antonello, it’s boring for me, too. But at least we should check on the most precious ones just to be sure that there is everything. Like those expensive-looking fabrics, for example.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Antonello knew that his fellow was right, therefore he went down the stairs and slowly walked towards the trunk full of fabrics. As soon as he was right in front of it, he started to count the charming pieces one by one, quickly yet with caution. Once he reached the eighteenth layer, though, his hands suddenly felt something very soft to the touch, even softer that those rich textiles...it was indeed Ermal’s dark curls.

Silently cursing himself, Ermal decided to get out from his ridiculous hiding place: at this point, pretending not to be there was completely absurd. At the sight of the young man rising up from beneath his precious fabrics, Antonello widened his eyes, feeling utterly shocked.

However, the initial shock vanished the moment he realized that the intruder hidden in his ship was actually Ermal Greyjoy, the prince of the Iron Islands.

“Bloody hell, Ermal! You were about to give me a heart attack, lad! What the hell are you doing here?”, the captain exclaimed, staring at his face in bewilderment.

Ermal scratched his head sheepishly, not meeting the other’s eyes. Before he could even think about something to say, he felt a hand grabbing him roughly and touching his right hip, and he flinched out of reflex. Evidently, while he positioned himself inside the wooden trunk, Dino’s tunic moved and at some point tore, being way too large for Ermal’s size, thus revealing some of the bloodstaines on the shirt underneath. Antonello didn’t move his hand from the other’s hip. “Word gets around real fast out here, you know that. Basically everyone knows the Lord of the iron Islands was murdered last night. I suspected it was you right away. I wasn’t wrong, I guess”, he uttered lowly, weighing up each word.

Ermal raised his gaze and finally looked at the older man, he then took a deep breath, “You weren’t wrong. I killed him. I killed my father, Antonello”, he whispered, quivering slightly. A moment of thick tension followed Ermal’s straightforward confession. Antonello removed his hand and was the first to break the silence, gently smiling at the young man, “Well, all I can say, it’s about damn time!”

Reluctantly, Ermal gave him a sad smile in response and relaxed his shoulders; now that he told the captain what he did, he inevitably felt a little better, as if he got a huge burden off his chest.

“So, what are you going to do from now on?” Ermal thought about it for awhile. H e realized to be entangled in a very advantageous position for him, since he was found out, he might as well have exploited it to reach Dorne enjoying the company of Antonello on his ship. “Well, I was thinking...would you mind if I stayed here with you so that I can get to Sunspear?”

He might at least spend some time with him: only after gaining much distance from this dangerous area, would he figure out what to do next.

“Ah, you hurt my feelings if you feel like you need to ask for it. You are welcome to stay with me as long as you desire, Ermal, and you just-”, Antonello pressed his lips tightly, “well, let’s pretend you are not who you are and you’ll be fine.” The captain then turned and started to leave. While Ermal was busy fixing his unkempt clothes and messy long curls, Antonello spoke again, making Ermal smile a little. “Now take off that bloodied piece of cloth though. You can’t walk around here clad in a bloodstained shirt, don’t you think?”

Antonello Venditti had been commanding a big sailing ship of smugglers for several years now. Its name, _Under the Sign of_ _Pis_ _c_ _es_ _,_ wasn’t chosen by chance, on the contrary it was a good omen, indicating prosperity for a fair wind and utopian freedom but also the constant desire to achieve stability by fighting for those ideals.

It was notably common for its ship to dock at Pyke port, due to the recurrent blackmarket deals with the Iron Islands. As a matter of fact, Capitan Venditti used to benefit from the Ironborn’s recurrent raids: they pillaged and took whatever they fancied, especially slaves and gold, and the Lord was more than willing to sell to Antonello everything he didn’t need, in exchange for luxury goods from the South, otherwise nowhere to be found in his territory.

***

It was a particularly rainy and cold evening, even for the Iron Islands, when the prince of the Iron Islands hid himself in his chambers in order to spend some of his leisure time alone. He inhaled deeply, grabbed the black ink on his desk, and started to write a letter:

> _Dear Antonello,_
> 
> _today is.._

As soon as he finished to write it and just put down the quill, Ermal heard men shouting and yelling from the local dock and he peered out of the window to see what was happening. Happily, he realised that Antonello’s ship had just docked at Pyke.

No matter if he was just arrived and probably very tired, the captain would surely be glad to see him after so much time.

“Antonello!” Ermal rushed outside towards the captain, waving his hands quickly in order to catch his attention. Eventually, Venditti noticed him and grinned back at him: “Ermal! How have you been?”

Meanwhile, some of his fellow men were fastening the ship to the dock and the others were slowly offloading its cargo. This time, the _Under the Sign of_ _Pisces_ carrried colorful, luxury fabrics according to the Lord’s personal taste. And, in addition to that, Antonello was holding a special small case, carried till there specifically for the prince. “Well, take a look at this.” Antonello motioned him to come closer and Ermal visibly lit up with pure joy at the sight of all those wondeful books arranged inside the case. He couldn’t help but rapidly wrest the whole case from Antonello’s hands, eager to admire each one of those interesting volumes.

“Whoa, easy!”, Antonello laughed, happy to see the prince finally joyous for once. “This time I must have come across something really special: look, this one is terribly time-worn, it must be extremely refined, no?”

Ermal took the book in his hands with loving care, and stared at it in amazement.

“Thank you so much, Antonello!”

***

Next morning a strong wind was blowing, and the sea was gray and white, with long breaking waves. It was hard to tell where the grey skies ended and the grey seas began.

The sailing ship pitched and rolled franticly, thrashing about in the waters of the choppy and wallowing sea. It was fashioned from ancient oak, with masts that stood as tall, and adorned by sails of white to dove grey.

Here and there tall crests topped with white froth charged through the sea. Very few of the crew were on deck to enjoy the wild scenery. One of them was Ermal. Holding on the bulwark, he was looking at the sea in a relaxed manner, clearing his mind. He turned around and saw Antonello speaking loudly with the quartermaster. The captain didmissed him once he had finished telling him what to do. He then came towards Ermal and started to complain with him about the quartrmaster: “Trust me, he's a mess, that man! Three times I told him to clean up the deck and put in order the most fragile objects, and only now does he do that.”

Ermal chuckled lowly, and he vaguely found himself thinkining about the Ironborn: he recalled the waves they used to run into when they were at sea, how they engulfed them before they pillaged and spread fear, and he also thought about how different it was to be here instead, on Antonello’s ship with his men.

In the breeze his hand was cold as he put a rebelliuous curl behind his ear. “ _You, my friend, who sail the seas,_ _have seen more sun rays_ _than waves and corsairs_.”

After more than three weeks at sea, the golden domes of the city of Sunspear were finally visible on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spero vi piaccia!  
> Ci sentiremo ancora per un po' di capitoli. Spero di riuscire a postare regolarmente, farò il possibile!  
> Se vi va, lasciatemi pure un commento nella lingua che preferite 😊


	2. Chapter 2

_In un tavolo al centro_

_tra la gente_

_che viene e che va_

The slowly setting sun painted the yellowish walls with a faint brush of red, the shadows from the few yet tall palm trees reaching down the low hill towards the town of Sunspear.

Fabrizio had finally arrived at the feet of the huge gates after a draining long journey. Besides, the weather wasn’t absolutely of any help: the Kingdom of Dorne had indeed a harsh desert climate. As a result of having to pass through the only desert on the entire continent of Westeros, Fabrizio and his young travelling companion were wearing a big turban on their head and they both felt like dying from the extreme heat. Fortunately, they chose to travel on horse, which, at least, had made the journey a bit easier and surely faster.

“Getting late, fellows”, the guard at the town gate said, walking forwards to question the tired-looking foreigners. “The gate closes at sundown.”

“Long day on the desert”, Fabrizio answered calmly, finally getting down from his horse. His back and legs were sore and he was hoping to handle with the guard as quickly as possible. “But we finally have a cozy place to rest.”

“Of course. Lost are we?” the guard asked with a sigh, tired to have to deal with the usual wanderers, gotten lost during their journeys.

“Oh, no, not at all. We’re glad we didn’t get lost.” Fabrizio managed to fake a relieved smile in an impeccable way. “My nephew and I are merchants. We came up to here in order to find a job, am I right, Nico?”

Niccolò, in turn, was having trouble getting off his horse, the animal kept on struggling against his moves and Niccolò swore back at it. He was withdrawn from his movement as soon as he heard the other man calling his name, and, by the way Fabrizio was scowling at him, he realised that he was probably supposed to say something, “Oh, yes. We come from far away. I hope to find a job here...maybe at the market.”

The guard eyed them for a moment, but looked quite convinced: after all, he had seen many travellers over his years at this gate and considered himself to be a good judge.

“Alright. If you’re looking for an inn and provisions, then the best taverns are up by the square.”

Fabrizio nodded and motioned Niccolò to come closer to him before politely saying, “Thank you, that sounds perfect.”

The old guard finally stood aside, letting the two men enter through the sturdy walls and disappear into the warren of stone housing.

It took only few seconds before Niccolò started to exhale forcefully. He shook his head and struggled to take off that insufferable turban on his head. As soon as he was free from it, he shook his head and begin to grumble, “Ahh, finally! I was boiling with that thing!”

Fabrizio enjoyed the whole scene and laughed, particularly amused by the way Niccolò was complaining for the umpteenth time.

The instant Fabrizio recrossed the gates of Sunspear he did so accompanied by a long-buried sense of melancholy. Walking down the city streets, he was reminded of long time before, of his childhood and the little house where he was grown up with his parents. They had been poor and his father had made a living selling local products at the big market while his mother had taken care of the house; better off than some, perhaps. Certainly, their little, humble home on the corner of the narrow lane was in stark contrast to the proud stone buildings that Fabrizio used to see in the distance as he walked towards the town centre, when he was young. It was a happy childhood, nonetheless, and they managed to live well enough without huge sacrifices.

Fabrizio and Niccolò had enough coin to pay for a cheap room and the _Barabba_ _I_ _nn_ certain had an air of economy about it. Without giving it a second thought, they approached the inn and left the horses steadily fastened on the outside. They entered the inn as two very weary men, exhausted from the journey and way too upset with the hot dry weather of the region. Evidently, the landlord of the inn didn’t take much to notice their miserable state because he reserved them a long look as soon as the door was opened.

“Hello, fellows. Just serving the other guests and I will be with you,” the landlord called as he poured a glass full of delicious red wine to an old man sprawled on the rough seat, next to the open windows. Niccolò sank on the seat, finally feeling comfortable and relaxed, and stretched a little. “Wine?” the white haired owner asked, squeezing behind the small counter and wiping the dust away with an old rag.

Fabrizio joined the younger man and settled himself across a table. “That will be fine. Thank you”.

Two filled glasses were soon taken to them, along with some fish and fresh fruit. Niccolò looked askance at the fruit, disappointed not to find substantial food waiting for him. Then he decided to go for the fish.

“The local is good enough for us here.” started Fabrizio, “we’ll stay here and look for a job in the morning, do you agree?”

“ _Sì_ , sounds good to me, Fabbrì,” came the spontaneous answer.

The two ate their dinner almost in complete silence, exchanging some vague words every now and then.

Looking in from the outside, the whole situation could have been easily misinterpreted as a typical dinner between two friends, maybe reunited after a long time, or even about to start a new life, ready to put a turbulent past behind. But they were here for a precise reason, instead. Fabrizio whipped the food off his plate, so he rested his head on the back of his hand and starting th inking about how nice it would have be en to be there just for some time off with Niccolò like two common travellers, but he knew he had some important work to do. He had a mission to accomplish.

***

Braavos was the strangest. A labyrinth of illusion and deceit. It emerged from the shadows, and shadows were also its citizens’ real identities.

Braavos was unique because, unlike the other Free Cities, it was never part of the Valyrian Freehold. The city was founded by a large group of escaped slaves, who overpowered their Valyrian captors, fled their grasp and took finally control of the ships that were transporting them. Knowing they would be severely punished for such a terrible act of rebellion, the slaves sought a refuge as far away from the Freehold as possible, thus turning north instead of south.

A defining trait of Braavosi culture was actually its hatred of slavery, a direct relic of the city's founding; as a matter of fact, its founders had risked their lives for freedom, therefore they swore a vow that, no matter what, no one in their city would ever be subjected to slavery. This vow became the First Law of Braavos, engraved on the arch risen above the Long Canal. It decreed that no man, woman, or child was ever to be made a slave.

It represented a belief Fabrizio could strongly relate to. He identified completely with such ideal, since for a man like him, freedom was an unyielding presence in his life, he considered freedom to be as sacred as bread.

Fabrizio walked over the bridge connecting the city of Braavos to the small island of The House of Black and White, the temple dedicated to the Many-Faced God. It served as the headquarters of the Faceless Men. Although it could be easily reached, the island was usually deserted.

Fabrizio entered the House and faced the central sanctuary with a large pool. Its water was poisoned, and was given out as a _gift_ to those who were suffering and came voluntarily to the temple to seek the release of death.

Right across the pool, there was the atrium, lined with statues of many gods representing death from many different faiths, from across both Essos and Westeros, which Fabrizio had found fascinating as well as deeply macabre since the first moment he stepped into the House.

However, he had to proceed in the depths of the temple, he was supposed to show up in the Hall of Faces, where the faces of the ones who drank the poisoned water were jealously kept in small alcoves to be employed as the basis for the face-changing abilities of the Faceless Men. Fabrizio eventually set foot on the enormous vault and all those faces seemed to be staring at his figure, like a giant misshapen hawk about to tear him limb from limb.

In the centre of the great Hall there was no-one but a tall man covered by a white hood. Claudio, one of the major leaders of the guild of assassins, was patiently waiting for Fabrizio to come closer. “Fabrizio Mobrici, _Valar_ _m_ _orghulis_ ”

“V _alar dohaeris”_ , Fabrizio replied, lowering his head a moment in sign of respect.

It was clear that Claudio was holding a letter between his hands, carefully folded as to appear as small as possible. They only assassinated targets they had been hired to kill and were not in the position to choose who was worthy of the _gift_ by themselves.

“You’ve been called here for a reason. You have been assigned to a urgent and delicate mission”. Fabrizo was then handed the letter, he knew the rules by now: on that paper there was written the name, the details and a sort of drawn sketch of the target he was expected to execute according to someone’s will. The letter was strangely difficult to unfold, Fabrizio reasoned, it was as if the paper itself were aware of the noteworthy position of the target and hence of the secrecy of the mission.

Fabrizio’s thoughts were directed to the analysis of the target’s personal information:

> _Ermal Greyjoy_
> 
> _26 years old_
> 
> _Prince and first in line to inherit the title of Lord of the Iron Islands._
> 
> _Guilty of regicide._

What presented itself to him was quite a contrast to the look Fabrizio imagined for a man accused of committing such a serious crime: the young man in question had dark big eyes and his beardless thin face was framed by shoulder-long wavy curls.

That sketch conveyed the idea of a kind young man, sweet-tempered even, certainly it was not the features Fabrizio was used to see when having to deal with violent, cruel men.

But Fabrizio knew it very well: looks can be deceiving. Notwithstanding the young and calm appearance, this man had murdered the Lord of the Ironborn, but most importantly, he had killed his own _father_ , and that’s all Fabrizio needed to know in order to accept the mission.

“The Ironborn promised a high reward,” Claudio explained, “the deceased Lord must have been really important for his people. I presume he was highly respected, considering how the Ironborn acted immediately to find and have the Prince killed.”

Fabrizio found himself to agree with Claudio, the Faceless Men commanded exorbitant fees, but had a reputation for success which was unparalleled by any comparable organization. And the asking cost increased relative to the importance of the target and the difficulty of the killing, so they did wanted their prince dead, apparently.

“Alright, I’ll handle it”, Fabrizio answered before leaving the House of Black and White.

He went back to the city, leaving the small island behind. He thought about the mission. His target was supposed to be in the Kingdom of Dorne, because, as Claudio explained just before, once the Ironborn realised that he no longer was in their territory, they sought in Banefort and found out that most of the departing ships were directed to Dorne. Hence, the prince could very likely be found there. Luckily Fabrizio knew the place very well, having spent the most of his life there, but it promised to be a very long journey; besides, he wouldn’t mind to have some company on the road. So, Fabrizio figured that he might surely count on Niccolò, his young loyal assistant, who could also help him to find the prince in Dorne.

There were no trees to be found within the city, making Braavos a sort of flat city of stone architecture and granite monuments. The streets Fabrizio was passing through to get to Niccolò’s were lined with houses made of grey stone, built so close that they leaned upon one another. Some houses were even built above waterways. They were usually slim buildings with peaked tile roofs, raised four to five stories tall, and Niccolò’s house was one of them.

Fabrizio smiled softly at the sight: Niccolò was outside, down on his knees all caught up in stroking the fur on his cat’s neck. He had always been a bit different from the others, a bit more inclined to deeper kind of thoughts, surely more mature and sensitive than most. Despite his young age, he often lived with his mind in the clouds, with hanging dreams, always longing for something he didn’t have yet. His natural disposition of being on the side of the outcasts got him interested in the deeper ideals of the Faceless Men, especially in helping others with the gift, when truly needed. As a result of his allure of the guild, Niccolò joined them, without assassinating people for hire though, his major task was in fact helping the other members and, above all, dealing with poorer, abandoned people and donating the gift to the worthy ones. Unmistakably, one of the major reasons he joined the guild was that Fabrizio Mobrici was one of them. The young man had made his acquaintance just a few weeks after Fabrizio had arrived in Braavos, he had admired him since he met him, and the other, in turn, was very fond of Niccolò.

Fabrizio cleared his throat, coughing twice to get the other’s attention, “Hey Nico, listen...I was just given a mission to accomplish in Dorne, what about you come with me?”

Niccolò grinned, clearly happy with the proposal, “ _Certo_ , Fabbrì, let me just get a few things and we can leave even today if you want”.

***

The next morning, Fabrizio and Niccolò paid the old landlord and left the cheap cozy inn.

It was a brash change stepping out from the dimly lit interior of the inn to be suddenly overwhelmed by the blinding light of Sunspear, many sun rays already warming the faces of the two men. They had to pass through the area of the poor quarter to cross the lane into the stone solidity of the streets, but it was a subtler change to where the buildings became gradually grander as the two made their way into where the money and influence of the Kingdom lived. Yellowish walls were so replaced by finely cut sandstone blocks, some even carved with intricate geometrical designs and symbols, perhaps a note of arrogance, Niccolò couldn’t help but think, by those who had succeeded or were simply born into success.

After weaving through the labyrinth of roads, the paths eventually converged and unveiled the main square of the town.

This wealthy quarter felt older and more lively to Fabrizio, the lower stones of the buildings worn smooth by the passing of people, rubbing and stroking the cool surfaces as they fought their way into the bustling noisiness and crowdedness of the large square, home to the day's market. Fabrizio and his assistant stepped over the ancient granite cobbles, a specific type of stone Niccolò had never seen in his travels and Fabrizio had not seen in a long time, instead.

“I think I could manage to get a job at the market here where there’s lots of people. So I can see if your curly guy walks around here,” Niccolò pointed out.

Fabrizio nodded in agreement, “You’re right, see what you can find here, I’ll go look for something at the port” he put an arm around the other’s neck and then patted him affectionately on the head.

Niccolò turned away from him and pushed his way through the open stalls, looking for the many oranges and lemon sellers, any selling fruit, fish or tomatoes; the common products of the Dornishmen.

Meanwhile, the mid-morning sun warmed Fabrizio's back as he crossed the market square and made his way along the dusty road before turning up a lesser known way and heading back into the alleyways to continue his walk unobserved.

As Fabrizio headed towards the dock of Sunspear, he did so using his own face; it almost felt like coming home, supposing that a Faceless Man could still pretend to have a home to call his own.

Before becoming a Faceless Man, he had lived a blissful, intense life in an outlying village near Sunspear. A life made up of a nice home filled with few belongings for himself, warm meals, and the happy, sparkling presence of his son, Libero.

***

Fabrizio worked as a cook in a small inn at the borders of the village, always crowded with guests eager to taste his delicious meals. Libero was a child of seven years old, and although Fabrizio had him when he was little more than a boy himself, he had loved him with all his heart, nonetheless. Those years, House Martell was not in such good terms with the Lannisters, hence it wasn’t uncommon for the people living in Dorne to experience unexpected attacks and raids at the hands of some of their soldiers. One night, occurred that a small group of Lannisters pillaged the poor village where Fabrizio lived, right when Fabrizio was late to finish his turn at the inn. For those men, it was merely a random raid in a random village, but for that village it meant a _slaughter_ . The village was utterly destroyed and all of its occupants killed.

On his way back home, Fabrizio came across the lifeless bodies of the people he knew, with whom he had spoken just some hours before. With horror, he started to assume the worst, so he began to run faster and faster in order to reach his home and finally hug his beloved son. A harsh shiver went down his spine the moment he noticed a small body lying on the ground, just outside his house. Fabrizio hastened, forgetting all the fatigue in his swaying legs from the rush run, desperate to find any remaining flickers of life in his child’s body, but was met with cold silence. His son was gone, stolen from him. Without a shred of reason.

That nameless tragedy left Fabrizio with nothing but a lacerating pain and an unbridgeable hole in his entire being.

At first, there was _wrath_ and a consequent sharp need of vengeance: he craved to murder each man who had slaughtered his son and the whole village one by one. His sleepless nights were spent meandering about their deaths, yearning for it as if he nearly had it on his fingertips. And he was angry, constantly angry at everyone. But Fabrizio had always been a man of faith, and in spite of what had happened to him, he still was. He prayed, but now he prayed fervently for the merciless death of those men.

As second uninvited guest, Fabrizio opened the door to a subjugating _sadness_ and a deep loss. This time he spent his nights mulling over his lost child, mourning him, calling to his mind every possible detail and memory he could vaguely remember, to seal every fathomable image to his heart, to be always beside him. And never risking to fail him, even in this case his faith promptly provided assistance to his soul. He prayed, but now he prayed for his son to be fine wherever he was, for himself to be able to remember him forever, and although he prayed to silence, Fabrizio settled for having faith in silences.

After his son’s death, Fabrizio felt the urgent need to escape, to go away and tire his mind. He travelled a lot through Westeros and even further away, and during his long journeys, Fabrizio realised that thousands of men from a hundred different lands faced death on a daily basis, and over time, such realisation developed into the belief that while they came from many different places and followed different religions, all of these religions were fundamentally the same because they all worshipped death in some way. And death was the same for every man.

In time, he arrived in the free city of Braavos and heard about the guild of the Faceless Men; he found out that this new awareness of him, was none other than the religion and the ideals followed by that group.

In fact, they believed in a syncretic belief system worshipping the _Many-Faced God_ of Death: they claimed that Death had appeared to humans under many different faces as many different gods, but they were all basically the same one god.

Fabrizio wanted to find out more, and was soon taught that their society had originated by a slave working in the mines of Valyria who, having heard the prayers of the slaves to their various gods, had come to conclude that they all prayed to the same god, only _with a hundred different faces_. Later, the first Faceless Man had discovered another slave praying for his master's death and he had granted the prayer in exchange for that slave to join him in serving the Many-Faced God.

Fabrizio figured he could easily relate to the Faceless men, their ideals being very similar to his new concept of faith.

As an initiation rite he was forced to forsake his name and become a nobody’s son, simply one of the many devotees to the Many-Faced God.

“Who are you?”

“ _No one_ ”, Fabrizio answered.

In addition to that, he was supposed to kill people for hire and, truth be told, Fabrizio didn’t mind the idea of murdering guilty people, as a sort of small act of revenge for his son’s death. However, killing someone they knew, for personal gain or out of anger was forbidden to Faceless Men.

No matter what, Fabrizio had made a vow to himself when he became one of them: before killing anyone, he would judge by himself if the target would fairly be a sacrament to their god. In the meantime, he would use his faith like a weapon, like a conductor between a doubt and that immense, when everything lost its meaning.

***

Eventually, after asking around all the afternoon to no avail, Niccolò found himself reaching the port. The port of Sunspear was rather big and a gathering place for merchants, sellers and was enough to attract the curiosity of passers-by .

Dorne was separated from the Stormlands by the Sea of Dorne and was surrounded by water on three sides. However, the coast of Dorne was rocky and mostly consisted of towering cliffs. The only notable port was the one at Sunspear, and even that was poor compared to Oldtown to the west or King's Landing to the north.

And _yet,_ in spite of everything, there was a dock for the merchant ships next to which Niccolò saw a market, smaller than the one in the square but still crawling with people. Obtaining a job there, revealed to be easier than he ever imagined: an old man needed someone to help him with the stall of fruits and his expensive turnips. Due to its arid climate Sunspear had one of the smallest overall populations, but that had also meant that it was the only part of Westeros where citrus fruits and spices grew. Dornish fruit as well as its wine were highly prized throughout all of Westeros, and considered to be among the best imports available.

In this lucky way, Niccolò managed to get the job and pretended to be selling those fresh products, whereas he watchfully observed the people at the port, focused on spotting the prince the Ironborn wanted to see dead.

Fabrizio, on the other hand, found a job as carpenter at the port. He was expected to sound the ships, repair both the broken parts of the dock and some devices which didn’t work. He had the qualities of a sort of handyman, and was fine with that, the only inconvenience he met was the dry, parched weather, annoyingly hot even for him, who was born in that same region.

One evening, Fabrizio was busy repairing a wrecked roof of a house, he glanced back at the smaller buildings near the docked ships, feeling grateful for the only cool night after days of sweltering heat, for it would probably be the last for who knew how long. He was peacefully resting when he suddenly glimpsed what seemed to be a young man with unmistakable curly hair coming back from the dock; Fabrizio sat straight up trying to distinguish the stranger’s features. Looking at him properly, Fabrizio was quite certain to recognize him as the target described and drawn in his missive.

For the next several days, Fabrizio’s main task was keeping a close eye on that mysterious young man, who soon proved to be definitely his target, Ermal Greyjoy. Even so, since he couldn’t afford to be constantly distracted at work, unless he wanted to loose his place, Fabrizio obviously employed his young assistant's help for his mission. While selling fruit and turnips, Niccolò made mental notes of Ermal’s movements. They both pursued the aim of never letting Ermal out of their sight, and they did succeed. As a matter of fact, they soon found out that the prince worked together with captain Antonello Venditti. Fabrizio had heard that the captain was the head of a well-organized group of smugglers profusely operating in most kingdoms, and he even held the reputation of being one of the best around, his goods being of rare beauty and quality. During his attentive observations, Fabrizio followed Ermal’s occupation, and he noticed that he worked at the dock as Venditti’s personal bookkeeper, keeping accounts of both departing and arriving ships. Apparently, Ermal also dealt with the list of the merchandising, checking how many goods had been sold and at which price. It wasn’t long before Fabrizio decided it was time to talk to him, to exchange a few words, at least. So, he approached the little place where his target carried out his duties every day, he came closer and closer towards him while thinking about what to say. As soon as he was basically in front of him, Fabrizio abruptly realised to feel oddly agitated and at loss of words. He removed all his doubts and unusual anxiety by shaking his head, and then cleared his throat, “Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you and your merchant ships have docked at Sunspear only recently. Where were you before coming here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Fabrizio tried to speak in a casual, gentle way, politely but not too much, so as not to sound suspiciously curious.

Ermal had clearly listened to him, yet kept on working on his paper before giving a dull reply, “We come from Banefort, a town loyal to the Lannisters”.

“Oh, I know Banefort, I’ve been there once actually”, he said trying to keep the conversation going, “ah, I’m Fabrizio, by the way”, extending his hand towards Ermal.

Ermal finally raised his gaze from his paper, he met Fabrizio’s eyes and reluctantly proceeded to shake the other’s hand, more out of civil good manners than anything.

“I’m Ermal, nice to meet you”.


	3. Chapter 3

_Io non ho visto il mondo_

_ma ho imparato_

_a viaggiare lo stesso_

“And with those sets of crystal glasses we get to thirty-eight,” Ermal sighed and folded the list he had been completing basically for the entire day. The man standing next to him was patiently waiting for Ermal to finish the whole check of the goods he had carried in his ship.

“Alright, the numbers match. You’re free to go, now,” he dismissed the man with a polite wave of his hand.

“Thank you, Sir Meta,” the man replied.

Ermal nodded and then watched as the other finally walked away from the dock.

Almost three weeks were by now passed since Ermal’s arrival in the Kingdom of Dorne. In the beginning he had felt deeply bewildered and, needless to say, he was also constantly afraid, for the fear of being found and caught for his crime was still present, although considerably less vivid than before. But Ermal soon had come to the conclusion that Dorne was quite a contrast to the place he had grown up: the two kingdoms were actually completely different under several aspects. The weather, for starters, for many foreigners perhaps it was not such big deal, but for Ermal it was a detail not to be underestimated. In his first days here, he had actually felt like the sun was melting his skin, the dry heat almost intolerable for him, used as he was to the cold, rainy weather of the Iron Islands. But, as days went by, he had learnt to cope with it in a rather practical though not very permanent way: whenever he felt like the wave of unbearable heat was affecting, not only himself, but his ability to carry out his tasks effectively too, he solved the problem by tying his curls in a short ponytail.

A further truly baffling aspect Ermal was immediately forced to face was Dorne’s culture, which, he soon found out, was radically opposed to his own. In fact, the Dornishmen were ethnically distinct from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. As a result, they had very different customs and traditions compared to the other regions of Westeros.

As a consequence of joining through marriage rather than conquest, Dorne was allowed the advantage to keep most of its local customs and laws, such as equal inheritance laws for male and female heirs. Ermal was indeed pleasantly surprised by the level of open-mindedness of these people and especially by the recognition of equal rights for both men and women, which, on the contrary, was nearly inconceivable for the Ironborn, with the exception, of course, of female captains.

Due to these different ethnic, legal, and political factors, the Dornishmen were very independently minded, with a stronger sense of loyalty to their Kingdom compared to many of the other Seven Kingdoms.

Ermal was beginning to appreciate a lot Sunspear and its culture and, albeit with slight, minor difficulties, he started to finally adapt to his new life. To everyone, except Antonello, he was known as Ermal Meta, Venditti’s personal bookkeeper, working on behalf of all his smuggling company.

His job proceeded very well and he considered himself the right choice for such role: having received a remarkable education during all his life in the castle, he not only was more learned than most, but could also boast of having a vast culture and of being particularly good at calculus. With Antonello around, Ermal felt at ease, could let his guard down. No one who knew Antonello well enough would ever go so far as to say that one of the captain’s main virtues was niceness, he was actually a grumpy type of man, constantly complaining about everything and nothing in particular. However, he did have a special consideration for the prince of the Ironborn: with Ermal, Antonello was unusually kinder, behaving in a more patient, gentle way towards him. It was evident that he cared for the young prince and, somehow, he did felt some responsibility for him, and Ermal, on the other hand, was extremely grateful to him for allowing him to get to Sunspear.

However, besides Antonello, there was someone else particularly kind towards Ermal: Fabrizio Mobrici. By chance, Ermal had recently had the opportunity to get acquainted with the carpenter of the dock and, since then, it wasn’t at all uncommon for the two of them to exchange a few words here and there. Almost every day, Fabrizio would go to greet Ermal at sunrise, when his turn was finally over; he would ask him some questions about the merchandising he was all intent on checking and then he would leave him after exchanging few more words. One day, Ermal was trying to concentrate on the check of the goods on his account book, but the lively life at the dock kept diverting his thoughts. He casually looked at Fabrizio and the way he worked to repair broken parts of ships and he found himself thinking that Antonello’s ship would probably stay docked there for several weeks, maybe months. This put him upon thinking that on that ship there would surely be some material which was unnecessary for the time being, but perhaps might be rather useful for the carpenter. Therefore he asked Fabrizio if maybe he happened to be in need of some supplies, and the other man accepted gladly, ending up taking some wooden boards and some tar.

All considered, if Ermal had to be truly honest with himself, he didn’t really mind Fabrizio’s presence - he did interrupt him from his work, of course and he did tend to intrude a little too much sometimes, but still, it was nice to have someone to speak to besides Venditti.

Thus, the days flew by quite monotonously, and Sunspear began to be almost like a home to the new bookkeeper. He was almost _happy_.

Yet, no matter how far he was from the Iron Islands and how much time had passed since that terrible night, Ermal still didn’t feel utterly safe. To be honest, he had never felt completely _safe_ in his whole life, but this particular feeling was a bit different this time. It was like a sort of misgiving, he somehow sensed that he was in danger but could not understand why or when he’d have to face that danger. And to make matters worse, Ermal didn’t know the city well enough, let alone its citizens, so he didn’t know how to move, where to hide if necessary, and most importantly, from whom he should escape.

That stifling sense of oppression increased considerably during a specific day, never leaving him for a moment. As soon as he started his daily tasks at work, he could perceive someone’s eyes staring at him, giving him chills. Thoughts about what the Ironborn might do to him if he’d get caught started to appear vividly in his mind; a part of him imagined that it could easily be that some soldiers on behalf of the Ironborn had found him and now wanted revenge for the Lord’s death.

Nevertheless he knew, rationally, that he had fortunately managed to escape too far from Pyke and arguably no Ironborn, even the most loyal ones to his father, would look for him this far south.

When his work was done, he made his way to the lodging where he stayed and suddenly the feeling of being followed increased even more than before. It was as if someone were secretly following him, lurking in the streets, near him. As he turned the corner onto the narrow alley, his lodging in sight up ahead, Ermal was able to hear light footsteps behind him that seemed to have approached out of nowhere and were picking up pace. He was being followed. Now, at least, he had the certainty of not being just overly paranoid.

With every steps he took, there were as many steps from somewhere behind his figure.

His breath came in small spurts, hot and nervous. At his sides, pale long fingers curled into sweaty fists, swinging forward in tension. He walked rather fast, but didn’t run, so as not to appear even more suspicious to his chaser. Besides, if he had started to run, he would have probably been caught up in a matter of few minutes. His senses were heightened, more things tended to become more echoing, the scuffing of his shoes seemed too loud to him, so he tried to make himself quieter. As he rounded the corner, more noises echoed from behind him, closer and closer. At a certain point, Ermal began to focus on a possible wayout, there was no chance that the footsteps would slow down, therefore the smartest move he could do was try to trap his own chaser and be the one to stop him, somehow.

It was true that Ermal wasn’t very familiar with the city: after all, he had been here for no more than few weeks, so he was not aware of its streets and minor alleys like he would have liked to in this specific moment, though he did know that a pintoresque building near his lodging had a dead end passageway. So he quickly hastened to reach that narrow alley, his heart beating frantically, _all or nothing_. As soon as he entered the alley, he hid himself using a small recess of the building right next to the oaken door, pretending instead to have continued down the alley.

It was, by now, late in the evening and the inn was closed at that hour, so Ermal didn’t run the risk to be seen by someone. Meanwhile, the footsteps became louder but slower, which meant that the chaser had probably gotten really close to him, but had lost sight of the target.

Then, all of a sudden, a figure appeared at the begin of the alley, Ermal leapt out from his hiding place and found himself face to face with an astonished young man. Ermal blinked, he certainly had expected to have been followed by a grown man, whereas it turned out that his pursuer was barely more than boy. Anyway, he knew that age didn’t constitute an excuse, for in the Iron Islands it wasn’t so unusual to see men committing crimes at a very young age, even younger than Ermal.

Instinctively, Ermal grabbed the lad and blocked him against the wall. The other widened his eyes, visibly confused due to the too rapid reversal of the situation. Ermal pinned his right wrist, keeping him from running away, all the while trying to calm himself down a little and inhale but he wanted answers, he needed to know why that young man had been following him, at the very least, the whole day. “Who the hell are you? Why were you following me?” he intoned instead, eyes steady.

The other didn’t know what to do and even less what to say: he hadn’t even taken in consideration the possibility that the prince might notice him. “Ehm, _beh... I…_ ” was all escaped his lips.

Thankfully for him, though, Fabrizio happened to be nearby, having been ordered to repair a broken roof in the afternoon. He was now going finally back home when right in front of his eyes he saw the curly prince grabbing a young man’s wrist. He got closer to better understand what was happening and his eyes widened the moment he recognized the person in front of him, “ _Niccolò..?_ ” he said, voice soaked with puzzlement and his dark eyebrows knitted together. But apparently the words didn’t come out as whispered as Fabrizio had expected them to, because Niccolò noticed him immediately, his own eyes widening in surprise, “Hey Fabbrì...” he murmured sheepishly.

Ermal turned around abruptly and he flicked his eyes back open, finding himself staring into Fabrizio’s darker ones, “What!? You two know each other?”

Fabrizio found himself taken aback by the direct question, as well as by the whole situation in general, realizing to be terribly short on words. Hesitantly, he glanced at Niccolò in search of an explanation, but it was a question the other couldn’t answer, all he managed to do was convey a silent “ _sorry_ ” with his parted lips. Then again, he had the duty to keep an eye on Prince Greyjoy, to follow him and study the way he behaved, but this situation was an outcome that he had not foreseen.

Fabrizio was beginning to waver a bit about coming up with an excuse or saying nothing at all, but then he figured it would be far better and useful if he were able to go along with it a bit longer. That was when a cunning idea struck him. “Yes, we do!” he hastened to say, “I wanted to ask you something, but unfortunately today I had to work a bit far from the dock, so I asked Niccolò to do it for me,” he paused a moment, and from Ermal’s expression he grasped that he could continue, “I wanted to ask you if you would like to come to lunch with me, you know, to return the favour you did for me some days ago.”

Ermal released Niccolò’s wrist and parted from him rapidly, like his skin had been burning from the touch. “Oh… so you were following me just for letting me know Fabrizio’s invitation?”

Although he was undoubtedly talking, the firm expression on his face didn’t quite match the tone of what he had just said. His eyes lingering on Niccolò’s wrist, which now had no more than a small, light sign left by Ermal’s grasp.

“I’m so sorry...” he whispered so quietly that he was hardly audible.

Niccolò and Fabrizio locked eyes. The young assistant shoot a questioning look to Fabrizio, but the older’s face mirrored his own, therefore he chose to wisely forget about the prince’s weird behaviour. “Actually, I’m the one who should be apologizing for scaring you in the first place.” Niccolò added a smile and hoped to be convincing enough.

Ermal still looked upset but, tentatively, the corner of his lips twitched in the tiniest hint of a smile. He then turned, so as to face Fabrizio, “Alright, I’ll go to lunch with you, Fabrizio.”

Fabrizio didn’t take long to fulfil his offer: just the morning after he scorted Ermal towards the place he himself had chosen for their lunch. The inn of his choice was a peculiar building not too distant from the dock. Just by standing outside, Ermal could notice that it was a rather crowded place, due to the loud voices echoing right from the inside; he assumed it represented a common meeting point for local Dornishmen. The instant they entered, Ermal was able to grasp a few details: for starters, he saw that there were some customers though non so many as to result too noisy, the local also looked quite rustic, yet not dishevelled. In short, Fabrizio had hoped it conveyed the idea to be the perfect balance for their lunch, not wanting to appear too formal but not too easygoing either. The invitation to lunch wasn’t just a mere excuse made up by the urgency of the moment, but actually it should have been a means to get to know the prince a little better. Fabrizio’s aim was to induce him to talk a bit about himself, in order to have a more concrete idea of his target.

They were gently showed a table near the window and sat one in front of the other.

“So,” Ermal cleared his throat to break the ice, “do you come here very often?”

Fabrizio shrugged, “Well, I wouldn’t say that. I ate here with Nico just two or three times.”

Ermal nodded but preferred to focus his attention in the attempt to take a glimpse of the dishes on the other customers’ tables. Honestly, having been in Sunspear for only few weeks, he had no idea whatsoever of what to order. The food had an odd aspect, Ermal had to admit, but he didn’t want to make a bad impression on Fabrizio, so he would have done better to order the same thing the others were eating, well, the most appealing one, at least. Fabrizio giggled a little, noticing the other’s embarrassment with amusement, “May I suggest the one with seafood?”

Ermal relaxed, watching him somewhat sheepishly, “Of course, thank you. It’s just that I haven’t been here that long and the only things I ate are cooked by one of Antonello’s men, and I’m not sure whether it’s proper traditional food or not,” he chuckled.

Fabrizio smiled at that, “Oh, I get it, don’t worry. Whenever I’m not in Dorne, the thing I always miss the most is good food.” He laughed, his soft smile reaching his eyes, but he quickly covered his eyes with a hand out of shyness, his fingers brushing against his short beard, “And I mean real Dornish good food.”

“Oh, so you travel often?” Ermal asked, genuinely curious.

“Yeah, both Niccolò and I are travelling merchants, but we do whatever we find, that’s why now we’re settled here for awhile.” He interrupted for ordering the two dishes and a pitcher of Dornish red wine, “So, as I was saying, I travelled through all Westeros, basically.”

Ermal’s eyebrows raised in amazement, this definitely got his full attention, “Wow, how I envy you!” he exclaimed, a shimmer of wonder lighted his brown irises, “You know, I’ve always wanted to see other kingdoms, but I… I’ve never had the chance, actually.” A shadow had now overcome that shimmer of light. “Anyways, I’d like to travel through Westeros, and obviously to see the lands overseas, too. They seem somehow _fascinating._ ”

Fabrizio shook his head a little in disagreement.

“Mh? Did I say something wrong?” Ermal asked perplexed.

“No, fact is that I don’t really appreciate the regions in Essos.” Fabrizio then proceeded to explain himself better, “I mean, as much as Westeros is full of flaws, issues and social injustices, at least we don’t have _those_ levels of slavery. Slaver’s Bay is disgusting. Their economy is essentially driven by slavery. Some of them were born ignoring the meaning of the word freedom.”

Ermal sighed slowly. He did know about the inhuman situation of slaves in Essos, of course, and honestly he abhorred slavery in every form, but did not expected Fabrizio to be a man of such liberal values. It truly was a pleasant discovery. Maybe, getting to know him somewhat better wouldn’t be a bad idea, after all. Thus, Ermal took the bold decision to tell him something more about himself, to trust him a little and take the risk of it. “Yeah, I agree with you...” He put a curl behind his ear to earn some time, “To be frank, I’m not stranger to slavery. In fact I come from the Iron Islands and although slavery is strictly forbidden in Westeros, it does take place there - at a more moderate level though. The Ironborn keep thralls and salt wives. Neither are slaves in the literal sense, but they are still subject to forced labour and low status, and not really far from enslavement.”

Fabrizio had listened very carefully to him, pretending surprise while inwardly exulting: the prince was slowly opening up with him, finally speaking candidly about the region he came from. “Yes, I’ve heard about this sort of thing. It’s not as grave as in Essos but horrible nonetheless.”

“Yeah, personally I find any sort of slavery utterly revolting,” Ermal proclaimed, letting a drop of hatred for his homeland’s traditions seeping through his words.

Fabrizio certainly did not fail to notice that expression of disdain, and felt relieved that the young prince did not share the mentality of his people; on the contrary, Fabrizio had the impression that the young prince was truly different from the other Ironborn, his open mindness seemed to be pretty dangerous as well as unfavourable for someone living in the Iron Islands. The faceless man could not help but think that the fact that one of the most brute regions had a Prince of such bold ideals was really an ironic contradiction. This thought led him to wanting to know more of him. “So, you said you’re originally from the Iron Islands, how did you end up here? I mean, Dorne is not really close to the Greyjoys’ kingdom.”

Ermal’s shoulders tensed at the mention of his family’s name. It was an involuntary reaction, which would have been basically imperceptible, if it wasn’t that Fabrizio boasted a remarkable ability of noticing such little changes, barely noticeable to others, yet salient for him to read other people. “Well, I used to live there, but I couldn’t stay anymore. I had to leave.” Ermal bit his lower lip, hoping that Fabrizio wouldn’t insist any further.

Of course Fabrizio hadn’t expected him to confess him everything straightforwardly, but at least Ermal hadn’t lied about being forced to leave the Iron Islands, “Oh, I see…well, at least you got the chance to see Dorne. Do you enjoy the city?”

The tension then left Ermal’s body: he was highly thankful to Fabrizio for changing the topic. “Oh, I sure do! There is so much light in Sunspear, it’s amazing! And people here are really nice, too...everything is so much different from Pyke. The only thing I’m still not used to is the weather, it’s too hot here!” he exclaimed, laughing a bit.

“Oh, I believe you! Although I’ve grown up here, sometimes the heat is too much even for me!”

For the next minutes, the air was filled almost uniquely by the younger’s voice, enthusiastically talking about his first impression once arrived in Dorne, and describing both some nice aspects of Dornish culture he had discovered and how friendly some people had been to him. He used his hands to enhance what he was saying, shaping ideas in the air.

Right in the middle of their conversation, they were interrupted by a man bringing their dishes of seafood. Ermal marvelled at the sight, widening his eyes. After thanking the waiter, Fabrizio saw the way Ermal was hungrily admiring the food in front of him and broke into a smile, “You know, in the place I was before coming back to Dorne, in one of the free cities, they say _Buon appetito_ before eating together.”

Ermal looked at him showing interest, “Oh, is that so? Well, then… _buon appetito_!” he replied, trying his best to mirror Fabrizio’s accent.

Ermal started to eat greedily. It truly did look appealing, after all.

“So,” Fabrizio said after awhile, “how’s your seafood?”

Ermal nodded repeatedly, eyes still glued on the food, “You were right, Fabrizio, it’s delicious!”

Fabrizio’s lips curved delighted, and Ermal smiled back at him. He really did have a lovely smile. Fabrizio wondered why he’d never noticed that before. The lunch proceeded nearly in complete silence, with the two of them exchanging words every now and then. However, this way Fabrizio used the opportunity to observe the younger man in front of him a little bettter; his dark eyes were large and bold, framed with long light lashes, and generally speaking, he was very refined, from the way he ate to the way he spoke. Once again Fabrizio frowned, thinking that he definitely wasn’t the type of prince one would expect for the Ironborn. But than again, Fabrizio was pretty sure it might take him by surprise because what appeared simple and elegant with this man could be suddenly translated into something absolutely horrendous. As a Faceless Man, Fabrizio was well aware that a man who had killed the King, his own father, surely had his real self lurking under this mask of nice appearance.

Notwithstanding Fabrizio’s thoughts flowing through his head, the time passed pleasantly chattering about trivial things and they soon finished their lunch. Out of the corner of his eye, Fabrizio noticed the landlord stepping forward with a friendly grin starting to spread on his lips, stopping then behind the prince’s back. Ermal flinched visibly when a hand suddenly touched his shoulder with no warning. The hand was pressing down a little, and he gasped, jumping inward instinctively.

“So, did you enjoy your meal?” the landlord gently asked the both of them.

Fabrizio took a while before answering, “Yes… it all tasted very good, thank you.”

He hadn’t been lying when saying that they had liked the food, the point was that Fabrizio was too busy noticing how Ermal was shrinking back. He had a white-knuckled grip on his glass, his face turned ashen. As soon as the landlord went away, Fabrizio noticed that Ermal was trying to pull himself together: he blinked rapidly, staring but not seeing. Just a mere glance at Ermal would have been enough to tell Fabrizio that he wasn’t fine. Something wasn’t right at all.

He waited a moment to give him the time to breathe a little, and then, “Ermal, are you all right?”

Slowly, the other raised his gaze, staring up at Fabrizio. There was a hesitant nod now, “Y-yes, I’m fine.” His mouth was dry.

He looked far from fine, though. His tone had sounded a little too upset to him, and his hands were trembling slightly. Fabrizio did not seem fully satisfied, but did not pursue the matter further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Se avete voglia di farmi sapere cosa ne pensate ne sarei felicissima! 😊


	4. Chapter 4

_Ci son parole che_

_non puoi capire adesso_

After their lunch together, some days passed during which Ermal still checked the merchandising at the dock, and Fabrizio never failed to go and see him during his short breaks from work. Fabrizio felt only a fleeting moment of regret at the barrier previously standing between them, before pure, unadulterated satisfaction overwhelmed him when he realized that things had improved since their lunch together: now Ermal talked to him more and seemed happy to do so. Though Fabrizio had to acknowledge that he too didn’t mind the other’s company - on the contrary he had begun to go to Ermal without any particular reason, just for talking with him.

One evening, he had finished his duties earlier than he expected, so he decided to go and greet Ermal as usual. Seeing that he wasn’t at the dock, he assumed he had already gone to his lodging, where Venditti lived, too. As the house got closer and closer, Fabrizio could hear someone in the house speaking with a rather loud voice, “Ermal, tomorrow I need you to go and take this piece of fabric to the man who came before. He lives near the market square.”

“I can try, Antonello, but I don’t know the town very well, yet,” the man Fabrizio recognized to be Ermal replied a bit hesitantly. The door was left half open, therefore it wasn’t difficult for Fabrizio to go inside, following the voices until he faced the two men. “Oh, I’d be happy to show you around, if you want,” he said, looking at the younger.

Ermal smiled as soon as he glimpsed Fabrizio standing on the doorway. “Are you sure it’s not too boring for you, Fabbrì?” He narrowed his eyes, waiting for an honest reply from the other man.

In the meantime, neither Ermal nor Fabrizio had noticed the way Venditti was staring at Fabrizio. “And who might you be, then?”

Ermal was about to introduce him to Antonello but Fabrizio was quicker, “I’m Fabrizio, I work at the dock as carpenter,” he held his hand out towards the older man, “I’ve grown up here, so I can show Ermal the city.”

Venditti studied him for awhile, looking at him with mistrust and a hint of worry, he then shook his hand though, deciding that as long as Ermal trusted this man, he might as well trust him, too. “Yeah, whatever. You can show him the main places at least.”

The following day, they exploited the fact Ermal was supposed to do what Venditti had asked in order to visit at least some parts of Sunspear.

Ermal patiently stood outside his house, waiting for Fabrizio to arrive; minutes went by and still wasn’t he there. Finally, a figure could be seen coming towards him.

“Fabbrì, you’re always late!” Ermal sighed, deliberately faking an annoying tone. Fabrizio laughed, absent-mindedly pulling at his own hair, like he did whenever he was embarrassed. “Let’s go, then.” It was one of those days where the blinding light yielded everything wavy. The sun seemed to be trapped in narrow streets, its heat radiating outwards into the bright day. And in the haze of the morning, Ermal could feel his loose blue shirt start to cling to his arms, so he rolled up the sleeves, exhaling.

Their first destination was the main square, for it was compulsory that the bookkeeper learnt at least where the centre of the city was situated.

“ _Aò,_ _e_ _compra n’arancia!_ ”

No matter if there were so many people in the square that they could hardly see further than few steps from themselves, Fabrizio couldn’t have mistaken that voice for anyone else’s.

“Ermal, I’ll go say hi to Nico. I’ll be back in a minute!”

Ermal nodded and walked towards the closest stall. The scene presenting itself before Fabrizio was quite hilarious: Niccolò was behind the stall, thrashing about uncoordinatedly towards the crowd, unsuccessfully trying to sell his fresh fruit in vain. No one would stop or buy something, though. Fabrizio took mental note to tell Nico that his attitude wasn’t really convincing if his aim was actually selling something.

“No, eh? Too plebeian for you, right?” Niccolò was shouting to someone who had the look of belonging to the upper class.

“How are you doing, Nic?” Fabrizio said once he was in front of him.

“Whoa, Fabbrì! _Con questa faccia!_ ” Niccolò exclaimed vaguely too loudly to Fabrizio’s liking, “Sorry, sorry, it’s just that I’m still not used to seeing you always wearing your own face!” He scratched his head sheepishly. To be frank, he couldn’t be blamed after all, Fabrizio’s missions had always been shorter and he usually wore masks, faces, like the others Faceless Men. Now though he was in his own city and had chosen to carry out the mission with his own face.

“Yes, but _apparently_ it’s my own face, so watch out, someone might hear you…” Fabrizio warned him.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Nic got closer to speak right into Fabrizio’s ear, but on the contrary he resulted to be even more suspicious than before, “So…what about the curly prince?”

Fabrizio pulled away a little, “Ermal is down there, I told him I’d come to you.” With a finger, he pointed at a stall not far from them. The assistant was now staring at him, visibly puzzled and confused. He blinked a few times, “Ehm, Fabbrì, I meant the mission… Have you found out anything yet?”

Fabrizio needed some time to process the mistake he had just committed, completely misunderstanding Niccolò’s question. What struck him was the fact that he hadn’t even thought about the mission, his first thought had been only _Ermal_ , as if it were perfectly normal that Nico would ask him where the other was now. “Ah, well… he did tell me he was forced to flee from the Iron Islands, but I still don’t have a full idea of him.”

But unfortunately for him, his earlier reaction wasn’t forgotten and Nic didn’t waste the occasion to tease him, “I see…but since when you’re so close to him? Are you friends now?”

Fabrizio blushed, embarrassed, “ _Ma figurati_! I only offered to show him the city, since he didn’t even know this is the main square.”

Eventually, a woman approached Nico’s stall, eyeing the turnips with interest. Therefore, the young man had to go back to work, glad to finally have one of his first customers of the whole day. Fabrizio then went back to Ermal, looking for a curly head among the crowd. He glimpsed him near the same stall where he had seen him earlier. Ermal had been standing still before a stall which sold books for the last ten minutes. He seemed to be so absorbed in observing the books that he didn’t even notice Fabrizio’s presence. In his hands he held a decayed volume which he turned over and over, with rapt attention. Getting closer, Fabrizio was able to see that it consisted of a book about history and traditions of Dorne. He smiled at the thought that Ermal wanted to learn more about Sunspear since it had now become his home; he really seemed a curious and clever person. The book was then put back in its place, in the end Ermal had resisted the urge to satisfy that little whim of his.

Fabrizio reached him, pretending not to have seen anything, “Hey! Did you find something interesting?”

Ermal then turned towards him, facing him, “Uhm, no. I was just looking around. We can go.”

Once crossed the square, there was the house where Venditti’s client lived. The expensive fabric he had bought was a riot of red and orange and matched very nicely with the dappled red shirt Fabrizio was wearing. Ermal completed his task in the blink of an eye, and then they were free to wander around the city as long as they wanted.

At a certain point, Fabrizio stopped.

“Oh come on, we’re lost, just admit it!” Ermal said, looking at him. Fabrizio’s eyed scanned his surroundings, trying to remember the right way. He wanted to take Ermal to see one of his personal favourite parts of Sunspear, a collapsed old temple, erected so long before that no one could rightly remember which God it originally was destined for. Each citizen had their own god to pray to in that temple. However, it had been very long since Fabrizio had gone there; therefore it was safe to assume he didn’t currently remember the right way.

“Well, I haven’t been here for a very long time, so I might have forgotten the way, yes.” Fabrizio gave up with a sigh.

“Ohh, be careful, I think you’re slipping, old man,” Ermal smirked, mocking him light-heartedly. Fabrizio’s brown eyes widened a little, momentarily taken aback by Ermal’s teasing. There was stunned silence, until Fabrizio just burst out laughing, sincerely entertained. Used as he was to be together with Niccolò, he acted without thinking, his immediate reaction being raising his hand to gently touch Ermal’s hair, in an affectionate way. But as soon as his fingers brushed against his curls, he felt Ermal tensing up perceptibly; the younger man got nervous all of a sudden. The realisation of what he had just done hit Fabrizio, who immediately pulled his hand away without thinking twice. Wrongly, he had given for granted that it was a gesture he was allowed to do, just because he sometimes did that with Niccolò. But Ermal was different from Niccolò. The memory of Ermal flinching and wincing at the inn passed through his eyes one more time, and he realised that even this time Ermal was tense, though obviously far less than that one.

Ermal stayed silent and Fabrizio feared to have completely ruined their time together. Everything had been perfect up to that moment, but now there was a thick tension palpable in the air. It took a few seconds, in which Fabrizio looked at him expectantly, but then Ermal didn’t disappoint: he continued to walk, pretending that nothing had happened.

“So? Are you coming or not?” he said.

A little smile appeared on Fabrizio’s face, he then quickly reached the younger man, glad that he had just let it go.

After aimlessly wandering around Sunspear for awhile, Fabrizio had the idea to take Ermal to see the Old Palace, the principal stronghold of House Martell. It was located on the far-eastern coast of Dorne, and the Threefold Gate, where the gates were lined up one behind the other, allowed straight passage on a brick path to the Old Palace. It consisted of a strong, fortified castle and two towers, standing tall over the city.

The first thing Ermal noticed was the fact that the castle walls were sand-colored, thus setting it apart from the other major castles of Westeros. He couldn’t help but think it was a strong contrast to Pyke Castle. Rising from the Old Palace was the slender Spear Tower, a massive tower of stone. It thrust up from the surrounding community, stretching tall, with a spear of gilded steel atop which added a further height. There was also the Tower of the Sun, with a rich dome of gold and leaded glass. Right beneath the dome sat the throne room, a large round room with thick windows and splendid glasses of the most flamboyant colours.

Truth be told, Fabrizio had decided to show Ermal the palace in order to see how he’d have reacted once surrounded by all that richness. Dealing with a prince, he thought the other would appreciate more this area of the city. On the other hand, Ermal seemed not impressed at all.

“What is it? Don’t you like it?” Fabrizio asked him.

“Well, it’s undoubtedly beautiful, Fabbrì, but I find it without particular charm. I prefer the urban parts of Sunspear, where the population lives, rather than some banal noblemen,” Ermal stated bitterly. Surely, Fabrizio hadn’t imagined he’d talk like that. For someone who had spent his entire life in a castle with all luxuries and never needing a thing, it really was peculiar that he preferred the town over the Old Palace. This young prince never stopped to surprise him.

For the rest of the day, Fabrizio and Ermal enjoyed exploring miles of narrow alleys, hidden courts, and noisy bazaars; totally unknown to the Ironborn Prince, and in part to the faceless man, too. It was in that way, with such calmness of souls, content to dwell in the ever onwards moment, that they truly felt the joy of each other’s company.

It was only two days later that, while working at the dock as usual, Ermal noticed a familiar figure slowly walking towards him looking oddly satisfied. Fabrizio finally arrived in front of Ermal, a hand leaning on the desk which the younger used to write while the other was in all likelihood hiding something behind his back.

“Hi Fabbrì, I just have to check those last trunks down there and I’ll be done,” he stated, continuing to fill his paper. He waited for a response from Fabrizio, but when he realized it wouldn’t come he raised his gaze a little, noticing Fabrizio standing still in front of him. “Mh? What’s wrong, _Bizio_?” In the spur of the moment, he didn’t realise he had called Fabrizio loudly with the nickname he had already been using for quite some time in his own mind. Fabrizio, for his part, blinked a few times at the mention of such a nickname, yet he didn’t give it much importance for the time being. On the contrary, he smiled and finally spoke to him, “Well, yesterday I happened to see something and I had a hunch that you might like it.”

Slowly, Ermal blinked his eyes open, staring up at the other man. Then, suddenly, something was laid on the desk and Ermal’s glance inevitably came across a thin leather book. His eyes widened in surprise, “And this?”

Fabrizio blinked, amused by the other’s surprise, “Well, as I just said, I brought it for you,” he giggled.

The book was a wonderful volume with an expensive look, bound in blue leather and on the front side was carved the title _Customs and Traditions of the_ _K_ _ingdom of Dorne_. The prince admired it with glowing eyes, he tentatively brushed against the cover, as if he didn’t want to risk to ruin it. The leather felt soft and delicate as he ran his fingers over the faded blue bindings. He fingered the gold lettering carefully before he opened the cover, paper rustled as he thumbed through the book to find what he was looking for. Words appeared and disappeared as his eyes flitted across the pages. “I love reading… how did you know it?” he asked, never stopping to stare at the book.

“Honestly, when we went to the market, I saw you standing before the same stall of books for the whole time, so I thought you really must love them!” Fabrizio chuckled, his full lips quivering slightly, “And I also glimpsed that you were holding a book about Dornish history. This is not the same book but I’m pretty sure it’ll be alright.”

Ermal was now looking at him, “Of course…of course, it’s absolutely perfect. But, can I keep it?” He asked in disbelief, unsure if the book was actually for him.

Fabrizio tried not to laugh, but failed miserably, Ermal’s enthusiasm was outstanding. “Yes, Ermal, it’s all yours. And I saw that it also contains some Dornish typical recipes, so next time you’ll know the name of some traditional dishes,” he said smiling, pointing at the book.

“Well thank you. It’s amazing, Fabbrì!”

Fabrizio couldn’t have imagined that his little gift would be appreciate this much. But Ermal was sincere. As a matter of fact, he was now looking at his book with utter rapture, skimming through the pages like it undoubtedly was the most precious gift.

“You know, I’ve always thought art means making you feel in company when you are alone. The characters of books make you think they are real. Because ultimately what is real? What we see or what we imagine? If what we imagine fuels us more than what we see, then what is real? I don’t know, but whenever I read I forget to be hungry, Fabbrì.”

Fabrizio stared at him the whole time. He observed the delicate way his long fingers slowly turned the pages as he talked and also the way his brown eyes were gleaming with bliss, occasionally covered by the shield of his eyelashes. He didn’t miss any detail. That is why now a glance at Ermal was sufficient to tell him that his expression had changed. His enthusiasm had smothered, taking away all his joy with itself. His eyes narrowed as his gaze got lost somewhere beyond the sea, a burden of melancholy and worry encumbering over him.

“And now, who knows what occurred to all my books…” he whispered softly.

Fabrizio was able to hear him though, and raised his eyebrows, curious. Actually, he hadn’t foreseen that Ermal would start talking about his past merely thanks to the book, it hadn’t been his intention. But, maybe, he could exploit the moment just to dig a bit further, leading him to confess something voluntarily, without pressing him. “Mh? You mean you used to have many books when you were in the Iron Islands?” he asked curious.

A heavy long sigh was then let out by Ermal. “I have to tell you something, Fabrizio. Truth be told, I haven’t been completely sincere with you.” He started, moving his gaze off the sea and back to Fabrizio with a frail hesitation, “I didn’t only live in the Iron Islands, I was the Prince. _Prince Greyjoy_.” He stopped, seeing that Fabrizio was listening to him very carefully. He bit his lower lip, torturing it all the while, unsure whether speaking further or not, but then, “I had to leave. I had to leave as soon as possible because I… I killed my father,” he confessed flatly, his voice trembling yet leaking no expression. Words were turned into a deafening silence, in which Ermal waited for a reaction from Fabrizio, who instead didn’t quite know what to say this time. Fact was that, although Fabrizio surely hadn’t expected him to be so straightforward, after spending quite some time in his company, he hadn’t fail to grasp some particular little things, hints which had gradually led him to believe that there was something big and serious lurking behind Ermal’s outspoken confession. At least, he now had the certainty that Ermal had indeed committed the crime he was accused of. However, he somehow felt the urge to understand why, to find out the reason which had driven Ermal to act. Even so, Ermal’s reluctance to explain anything more was rather evident. And Fabrizio didn’t want to make him haste, preferring to let him the time he needed without making him feel in discomfort. By now he had taken enough time keeping silent as to make it seem like he was processing what Ermal told him. “It’s ok, Ermal, I get it. Everyone has secrets, after all…” he said, trying to sound surprised yet not too upset. Ermal relaxed slightly, though there still was that greedy shadow smothering his smile; therefore, Fabrizio thought he should cheer him up a bit somehow. He reasoned that he might as well change the topic to something lighter. “So you’re a Greyjoy…can I ask you why you chose _Meta_ as new surname?” Actually, it was something he had always wondered about and, if nothing else, now he had the chance to find it out.

“Well…I’d like to tell you a long and interesting story about it, but unfortunately it would be a lie,” his lips finally curved into a smile, “the truth is that one day, while I was checking the goods at the dock, I spoke with the captain of a foreign ship who told me he originally came from a very small town among the free cities, Meta. I liked the fact it is a small free city which is unknown to most, somehow hidden from the world… Besides I thought it sounded nicely matched with my name, and hence I chose it. It happened pretty casually, I guess,” Ermal explained, the sadness from early before nearly disappeared altogether.

A week later, the calmness of a lazy late afternoon was disturbed by the sudden noise of someone knocking at a door. Ermal rushed to open it, coming face to face with Fabrizio. “Hi Fabbrì, come inside.” After letting the man step in, he disappeared again into the other room.

Antonello wasn’t at home with Ermal: a week before he had left, sailing with the _Under the sign of Pisces_ towards the Lannisters’ territory in order to get some needful supplies, new merchandising and, most importantly, Ermal had asked him to gather some information about the current situation in the Iron Islands. As result, Ermal was left the task to watch over both the house and Venditti’s goods left in Sunspear.

Fabrizio found himself staring at an open door, before he heard Ermal shouting at him from the other room, “I’ll just get changed and I’ll be ready in a minute. Stay there!”

The same morning Fabrizio had approached him with a big smile. When asked the reason of his good humour, he had replied that there was something new in the city, something he wanted to show Ermal at any cost. As much as Fabrizio would have wanted to keep it a surprise, after having insisted for hours, Ermal managed to get him to tell him that they were building an innovative fountain, near the Old Palace, in the other side of Sunspear. It was actually Nic who had told him about the fountain, of which he had heard thanks to the chattering of people at the market. Therefore, Fabrizio was now waiting for Ermal to get ready in order to take him to see that newest piece of technology.

In no more than two minutes, Ermal arrived at the door, clad in a white shirt, light and comfortable due to the overwhelming heat. “Shall we go?”

A selected group of clever inventors had been commissioned by none other than House Martell itself to elaborate both water distribution systems and fountains in their Palace and gardens.

Fabrizio and Ermal took some time to arrive in the garden and the sun was just set. As soon as they got there, it was blatantly obvious that the new fountain was still under construction; in fact, several men were currently working on it to build it. Nevertheless, Ermal was very excited to see it, he was grateful to Fabrizio for taking him there and they both walked around the fountain, eager to understand how it worked. Having only read about these kinds of things in his books, Ermal had but a scarce knowledge of their function and the way they were built. On the other hand, Fabrizio had had the occasion to see new inventions many times during his journeys. He had often talked to whom was building them, thus learning more and more in each place he had visited. So, Fabrizio explained willingly to Ermal everything he knew. He started by telling him that water was carried by a pipe into the fountain from a source at a higher elevation, hidden from view somewhere next to the palace. The reason, Fabrizio explained, was that most fountains operated by gravity, thus they needed a source of water higher than the fountain itself, such as an aqueduct, to make the water flow. Although fountains were originally purely functional and used to provide drinking water and water for bathing and washing to the residents of cities and villages, recently they had started to serve multiple purposes. As a matter of fact, they were also used for decoration and to celebrate deities. For instance, it was obvious that this specific fountain was meant to glorify the deity of the Faith of the Seven: it consisted of a large vasque mounted on seven stone statues of the New Gods. In addition to that there were many basins where the water flew high upwards.

Three men were busy fixing the last two statues, but Ermal presumed that water was supposed to pour from one statue to the other. At a certain point, he came closer to the fountain, so as to better see every piece. Intrigued by the whole thing, he drew near the centre of the fountain, that is when a central, essential big stone moved a little. It moved slightly yet enough to cause the main jet of water to divert his flow, thus soaking Ermal’s body almost completely. Ermal withdrew immediately, cursing and blinking rapidly, totally taken by surprise by the incident. As he got away from the fountain, he could hear Fabrizio laughing behind him. But Ermal couldn’t blame him, all in all, it must have been really funny, seen from the outside. So, his mouth twisted into a sneer and he laughed, too.

“You’re soaked!” Fabrizio was unable to suppress a laugh, now covering his eyes with a hand. Admittedly, Ermal was soaked from hair to waist. “Yeah, I noticed. They probably need to work on it a little bit longer,” he laughed with a pinch of irony.

Notwithstanding the amusing inconvenience, Ermal’s shirt was indeed soaked; it was by now evening and the weather at this time wasn’t at all as hot as it was during the day. Although the sun was still up, it was now almost chilly and crisp, a cool breeze cutting air.

“Ermal, aren’t you too cold?” Fabrizio eyed him worryingly. They were going home, but the fountain wasn’t anywhere near their houses, so it would take them lots of time before getting there.

“No, I’m fine,” Ermal’s reply came softly. He had started to act weird since they left the fountain, he walked quickly, and seemed to be willing to go home as soon as possible.

“I’ll give you my upper shirt, so you won’t freeze,” Fabrizio offered sincerely. After all, he was wearing a long shirt over a lighter one, so he couldn’t be cold. On the contrary, Ermal was visibly cold, covering his chest with his arms and breathing heavily.

“Oh thanks, Fabbrì, but there’s no need to,” he replied with a faint smile.

They continued to walk for awhile, Ermal spoke less and less, somehow nervous.

“Oh come on, Ermal, don’t be ridiculous!” Fabrizio suddenly snapped, losing his patience as he saw Ermal shivering slightly for the umpteenth time in few minutes. “You’ll get sick!”

Ermal murmured a barely audible “ _I’m fine”_ but slowed down his pace.

Fabrizio had already taken off his upper shirt and was handing it towards him. “We still are a bit far from home. Just take yours off and wear this, please,” he said, gentler this time.

Ermal stopped walking and sighed. He knew, as his eyes shifted from Fabrizio’s face to the shirt he was holding, that Fabrizio was right. In spite of his stubbornness, he knew that his lodging was still far from there and, admittedly, he was already cold. So he gave up, sighing.

He grabbed the shirt Fabrizio was handing out, “Thank you, Fabbrì.”

Slowly, Ermal proceeded to take off his wet shirt, “So, how much further do you think?” he asked, looking at the street continuing beyond his gaze.

However, the other man remained silent. When no answer came, Ermal turned his head towards him, “Bizio?”

But Fabrizio was fixedly staring in front of him, or more specifically at Ermal’s back.

Several scars snaked down the upper side of his back.

Light, thin lines spreading on his skin like a spider web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really love to know your thoughts with a comment! :)


	5. chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questo capitolo non è stato affatto facile da scrivere, per ovvie ragioni...  
> Comunque, nei prossimi capitoli tornerà il Fluff❤  
> Fatemi sapere cosa ne pensate, se vi va 🙈

_Camminare fa passare_

_ogn i tristezza, _

_ti va di passegiare insieme? Meriti del mondo_

_ogni sua bellezza_

Fabrizio stood as if paralysed. His brain stuttered for a moment, his eyes harshly taking in more light than he expected. Every part of him went on pause while his thoughts tried to catch up with great difficulty.

His pupils narrowed and a glistening shimmer blurred his vision slightly as he stared at Ermal's scarred back. He gawked the way fainter, broken lines marred his skin from various angles, and wider, deeper ones branched out across the middle of his back, and his heart fell silent.

As soon as Ermal turned his head, he met Fabrizio's expression. A delusional part of him had hoped that, somehow, Fabrizio simply wouldn't have noticed them, be it for the speed with which he took off his wet shirt, or for the mere fact that the sun was setting, thus bringing along much light. However, he was not so naïve as not to perfectly know that he wouldn't manage to keep them hidden from Fabrizio's sight, especially not when he stood so close to him. Nevertheless, deeply within he also felt inevitably relieved now. It was a strange, mixed feeling the one floating through him right now: in fact if on one hand it was definitely something he didn’t like to show, on the other hand he was secretly glad that finally someone had seen them, used as he always had been to keep them hidden, invisibly concealed for years under thick layers of pretences, secrets and fake smiles.

He pressed his lips together before proceeding to put on Fabrizio’s shirt in a swift movement. With unsteady and slow steps, he began to walk further, continuing the street they had been following shortly before. He did not speed up though.

“Let’s go...” falteringly made its way out of his mouth.

As if stuck underwater, everything to Fabrizio appeared slow and giddy, yet when he heard him speak he came somewhat to his senses. Thus, he averted his gaze from Ermal but started to follow him nonetheless, walking slowly right behind him.

They walked in utter silence great part of the way and passed one alley after another which looked all the same. Words had left Fabrizio. His brain was desperately scrambling to make sense of it all, to try to put all pieces fit together. He wanted to understand, because this time he could not decide to just overlook what he had just seen, choosing to ignore it like he had already done with certain facts before. This time, he knew there was no way he could just pretend not to have seen what he'd seen.

After awhile, Fabrizio took a deep breath thus managing to refocus, and didn’t walk any further.

He then bit his lower lip. “Ermal...” he finally brought himself to say.

Ermal turned around, by no means caught off guard by the indirect question but, on the contrary, selfishly hoping it would come. To be frank, he was highly sick of pretending, it was a burden he had always carried just by himself, with no one else knowing what had been happening. But now he had had enough to keep silent. A veiled part of his soul, the most damaged one, actually regretted not having told someone, not having acted earlier regardless of the consequences. Dwelling on it was of no use since he couldn’t obviously change what had happened, however now he had the chance to finally speak freely, to tell someone the real truth, for at this point it was pointless to keep it secret. He could feel the weight of Fabrizio's gaze on him with the same palpable certainty with which he could feel the cobbled road under his shoes or the cold air of the approaching night - and yet. And yet, all those sensations paled in comparison to the acute awareness of his scars, almost crawling between the fabric of the shirt and his soul. And it wasn't sadness what overcame him in that moment, no. It was _anger_.

With white knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the previous effort to remain silent, Ermal’s quivering figure exuded an animosity leaking out of him like acid - burning, slicing. His face was pale with suppressed rage, he locked eyes with Fabrizio, trying his best to keep his gaze from faltering.

“It was my father,” he spat like venom. His eyes had warped into a miserable black, widening a bit.

His voice was so filled with hatred, so bitter, that Fabrizio blinked rapidly and shrank back a little, taken back by Ermal’s unexpected rage. He couldn’t help but think he had become a different person.

Realization hit Fabrizio hard and he couldn’t will his lips to move, finding himself speechless. His mind was blank and his eyes wide as he stared at him in horror. Never would he have taken into consideration such a possibility.

He drew his lower lip between his teeth, “Is that why you killed him?” he asked him straightforwardly.

Ermal’s eyes shifted to the side, he waited some instants before answering, “No. It was a whole other reason,” he uttered, loathing getting the better of him.

By dint of walking, they had already reached the main dock of the city. Ermal took a few more steps and then suddenly sat on the ground, positioning himself right before the sea. He looked at Fabrizio and motioned to him to come and join him there. Fabrizio did it, reaching him and sitting next to him.

Ermal gave a sigh, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you the whole truth, Fabbrì,” his voice lowered almost to a whisper.

With a shaking hand, he hid a long curl behind his ear, diving into the view of the calm sea before finally starting to talk.

***

Once reached the last line of the page, Ermal's eyes had to go back to some paragraphs. He was staring at the book, without actually catching the meaning of the words. Phrases began then to look like mere signs, and such signs turned out to blurr together, becoming nothing more than incomprehensible lines. At this point, Ermal gave up and closed the thick book he was unsuccessfully attempting to read.

Since the very moment he had glimpsed that man with the hound crossing the main bridge, he had lost concentration on everything else. Of course, he had endeavoured not to think too much about it, focusing instead on one of the many books with which his library was furnished, but no dice. His mind went always back to that man because, honestly, what could a Bolton do at the castle? Ermal came to the conclusion that his father was surely up to something and, whatever he was planning, he had no doubt it was nothing good. There was this acute misgiving which had insinuated itself into his mind, suggesting that he should watch out for whatever Lord Greyjoy was secretly conspiring to do. Tired of thoughts ceaselessly afflicting his mind, Ermal stood up quickly. Firstly, it seemed fair to investigate a little and see if he managed to find out something before jumping to any conclusion.

Therefore, he decided to go and look for anything suspicious in his father's private room, the cabinet sited adjacent to the Lord’s bedchamber.

Setting foot in the small room, Ermal could make out the dim light seeping through the window.  
His father was probably gone to bid welcome to the Bolton envoy at the gates; luckily for Ermal, he'd be too busy entertaining his guest to come to his cabinet.

Promptly, Ermal started to look around the room, scanning his surroundings to see if something appeared out of the ordinary at first sight. Then, he proceeded to try with the desk where his father used to keep his papers and some old letters.

So, Ermal opened the lowest drawer and started to examine the numerous documents one by one.

But he knew that the Lord of the Iron Islands wasn't by no means the kind of man who displayed his secrets in plain sight for everyone to see, on the contrary, he'd rather disguise them somehow.  
That is when his gaze fell on a book looking weirdly out of place among the others, as if put there casually. While all the other books were orderly lined with their spines facing outward, the spine of this specific book stuck out visibly from the others, thus seeming to be terribly misplaced. Ermal took it and as soon as it was open, a folded letter fell on the slanted desk. It was marked by the Greyjoy's official sigil and addressed to Lord Bolton himself. To his surprise, Ermal noticed that it bore the king's seal, but strangely not the signatures of the council of captains, a sign that the letter had inevitably passed through his father's hands alone.

At once Ermal began to read it, his eyes widening more and more in horror and disbelief the further he read. He then read it a second time, this time more slowly, half murmuring the words to himself and letting each word gradually establish its meaning as though he were seeing it for the first time.

With shaking hands he folded the paper and put it inside the book where it was before.  
Dangerous, frightening hints were now connecting in Ermal's mind and he finally gained knowledge of something so shocking and serious that he absolutely hadn't anticipated before this moment.

He decided to go back to his chambers in order to ponder over what he had found out and think about what to do next.

However, it didn't take long for Ermal to come to know that on that same evening it'd be given a banquet in honour of the Lord's special guest.

As first Prince of the Iron Islands, Ermal was expected to wear his most embellished clothing, namely a lavish long tunic made of the finest silk and of the same shade as the darkest, deepest grapes before the dust is rinsed away. It undoubtedly gave prominence to Ermal's refined features and its colour created a beautiful contrast with his dark curly hair. In addition to that, right under his shoulder it was finely embroided a golden kraken, the Greyjoys' heraldry, while a thick golden belt girdled his narrow waist.

Now that he was properly dressed for the formal occasion, Ermal finally left his chambers. He crossed a small bridge connecting the two parts of the castle and then arrived in front of a closed door. And then, not long after he had knocked just twice, a boy erupted from the room, opening the door.  
"Ermal!" The boy exclaimed happily, almost jumping on the other.

"Hi Rinald!" Ermal smiled softly as soon as he saw his younger brother. He ran a hand through his hair fondly before wrapping his arms loosely around him, hugging him. Rinald was at first slightly surprised by Ermal's sudden display of affection, but then hugged him back. Ermal's hands leaned on the younger's shoulders and let go of him. He blinked rapidly a few times before asking him, "So, are you ready? We have to go to the Dining Hall now."

Rinald nodded and a hand went to fix his blue tunic along his right sleeve where it had fallen slightly.  
On their way to the Hall, the boy couldn't help but notice that his brother was oddly silent. In fact, whenever they were together they usually spoke at least a little bit, but now Ermal was extremely quiet, as if his mind were elsewhere. Yet, they soon reached the room and that is when Ermal leaned down a bit towards him telling him, "Here we are, Rinald. Just stay near me, mh?"

Rinald wasn't sure why, but Ermal's voice had sounded unmistakably worried, and this time the boy couldn't suppress a confused expression. His eyebrows knitted together as he looked up at his brother's face, "Is something wrong, Ermal?"

The older shook his head quickly, finally regaining control of himself. "No, everything will be fine. Let's go", he said firmly. It seemed like such words escaped his lips more to convince himself, though.  
The smoky Great Hall was adorned in an opulent way and the finest foods, wines and ales were served in abundance, all due to the feast held for the Bolton guest. A very long and narrow table was disposed right in the middle, the walls were furnished with sumptuous pieces of art, while two rows of torches and a big chandelier carrying a circle of about twenty white candles provided enough light to the whole hall. Long tables were laden with various meats, stuffed birds and pastries; though vegetables were vastly outnumbered by a parade of fish of all kinds, and more elaborate dishes. Ale, mead, spiceless goat, and onion pie were served as typical food of Pyke.

The whole picture proudly manifested itself in all its lavishness, but Ermal’s eyes didn’t fail to capture the actual hollowness and falsehood just below the surface. He knew full well that such richness was just an act, a mere farce put on to mirror his father’s prestige, the more the opulence the more his arrogance.

Just by thinking about him, Ermal was able to perceive his father’s gaze on himself. And there he was. The Lord of the Ironborn was sitting on an ornate chair under a rich tapestry displaying his coat of arms and the emblems of the territory. Next to him, on his left, was a tall, middle-aged man that Ermal assumed to be none other than the envoy of the Bolton. The moment Ermal and Rinald stepped into the hall, his father was the first to stand up abruptly, making the chair creak noisily. Standing tall with good posture, he approached them with large steps followed by the nobleman of the Bolton.

“Lord Ryswell, allow me to introduce you to my son, Rinald Greyjoy,” he proclaimed, putting his hand on the younger’s shoulder, “he’ll turn fifteen in few weeks.”

A confused expression painted in the Bolton’s face, he had given for granted that the Lord would introduce the heir first and the younger son later.

He frowned, knitting his brows together, “So, is this your heir, Lord Greyjoy?” he asked perplexed, moving his eyes quickly from a brother to the other one.

An amused gleam arose in the other’s eyes.

“Oh no. _This_ is my firstborn, Ermal,” he clarified, gesturing towards Ermal with his hand.

At the table, the participants to the banquet were seated strictly according to their rank, hence the King of the Ironborn was the only one sitting at the head of the table, with Ermal just on his right side. As honoured guest, Lord Ryswell was offered the place opposite to Ermal, on the king’s left. His loyal black hound was with him, lying meekly under the table waiting for some leftover to be thrown at him.

The banquet began and soon the hall was filled by loud voices talking one over the other. Among them it was easy for Ermal to distinguish the king talking with the foreign lord, and although they both were discussing about political matters, his father was unequivocally steering the conversation.

In the meantime, Rinald was enjoying the banquet but he also tried to exchange a few words with his older brother, wondering why he seemed to be so lost in thought this evening.

At a certain point, Ermal felt lord Ryswell’s pressing gaze on him. He was in fact leering maliciously at him with a glint of desire. Even his father didn’t miss the blatant way the Bolton man was lustfully looking at his eldest son since the moment he first saw him, yet he didn’t intrude, simply watching Ermal, interested to see how he’d react. Still, Ermal pretended not to have seen it. He wisely chose to ignore it, preferring instead to focus his attention on Rinald, talking with him.

Time was passing frustratingly slowly during which Ermal kept on ruminating on the content of that letter, anxiety and worry getting the upper hand. He struggled to avoid thinking about it, to focus on something else, but it was absolutely pointless for his mind kept going back there.

In front of him, the foreign lord still hadn’t stopped laying his gaze on him every now and then, so he also did notice that the prince was very quiet and had barely touched food the whole dinner.

“Your son is not really the sociable type, is he?”, he whispered to the Iron Lord.

“Yeah, let’s just say I’m _lucky_ I have two heirs,” the other said loud enough for Ermal to hear, too. A superficial glance, at least initially, would betray nothing out of the ordinary about Ermal’s demeanour, yet the way his shoulders stiffened did not escape his father.

The guests had by now eaten and drunk in abundance and a pale moon was visible through the narrow windows, which suggested that the sumptuous banquet was finally coming to an end. What signalled its definitive end was indeed the Iron King slowly raising from his seat.

“Lord Ryswell, you must be surely tired from your journey. I suggest that we postpone our political affairs until tomorrow morning,” the king proposed.

After all, the foreign noble still didn’t know the real reason why he had been sent there, having only had sufficient time to be welcomed at Pyke Castle and then to attend the dinner in his honour, he still was completely oblivious to the Lord’s intentions.

Lord Ryswell made an affirmative sign with his head, “I’m too tired for discussing important issues right now. I find myself agreeing with you, _Lord Reaper_.”

Every time Ermal heard that title he could feel the tingling sensation of a shiver running down his spine. Lord Reaper was a title held specifically by the head of House Greyjoy but, contrary to what was often commonly believed, it didn't necessarily signify sovereign status, it was rather a mirror of the King’s personality as well as the Ironborn’ motto, _we don’t sow_. As a matter of fact, his father had _earned_ such title, gaining the respect of all his subjects after years of pillaging and raiding, first as Captain until his reputation had started to precede him. Gradually, he had then built his kingship with blood and iron, becoming the Iron King whose name was now feared throughout nearby villages. He took what was his by force, seizing whatever he wanted from those ones he had defeated. He took pride in paying the iron price, and as a result his men showed him respect and absolute obedience.

Having spoken to lord Ryswell one last time, the Iron King took leave of his guests and finally retired to his private chambers. Even though Ermal had spent the last hours incessantly thinking about what he had found out, he had come to no conclusion. He let hope flutter in his chest that his worry and fear were perhaps unfair, that maybe it was just a mistake of some sort; after all there may well have been numerous explanations leading to an incorrect understanding. Yet, there was absolutely nothing he could do except talking directly to his father and that’s why he decided to go to his cabinet to shed light on the matter. Once arrived in front of the door, though, the prince felt his heart clenching nearly imperceptibly with tension. He then took a deep breath before finally knocking.

The reply wasn't long in coming. “Yes?”

“It’s Ermal.”

This time the answer wasn’t immediate, a few seconds went by before the other spoke again.

“Come in.”

Ermal couldn't help the grimace forming on his face as he quietly shut the thick door at his back, never once taking his eyes off the man in front of him.

“So, why are you here?” his father asked him rapidly, making no effort to mask his annoyance.

Ermal knew that hesitating was pointless, besides he needed to have answers, thus wanting to conclude this as quickly as possible. Therefore, he was determined to come straight to the point.

“I found the letter addressed to the Lord of House Bolton some hours ago,” Ermal said straightforwardly. He was tense. He stood straight and studied the man through narrowed eyes, ready to see his reaction.

His father’s dark eyes glinted at that. “I see. So eventually, you did find out. I guess I should’ve expected that.” he was not impressed though. His lips had deformed into a grin, a grin which conveyed secret knowledge.

“But that doesn’t answer my question, son. Why are you here?” He repeated. His voice was dangerously low and he kept intense eye contact with Ermal the whole time.

Ermal blinked, his eyes narrowing in a thin line as he watched his father tentatively.

“I came to hear the truth from you. I want to know if what I’ve read is true.” He didn’t realize he was nervously clutching his fist while talking, rapidly opening and closing his palm unconsciously.

The amusement in the Lord’s expression grew as he observed Ermal.

“Well, my letter is perfectly comprehensible, I think,” he was speaking in a patronizing way, “but yes, I’ll send Rinald to the Boltons to live with them as a form of insurance. If that’s what you’re asking.”  
That blatant statement engendered a shade of momentary dismay in Ermal's eyes. Horror and disgust gnawed at his insides. They hung in the air. Poisonous in their coldness, cruelly underscoring how appalling his father's words had become. In spite of everything, in his heart laid still a faint, tiny hope which persuaded him to think that even his father wouldn’t go that far, that he wasn’t disposed to giving Rinald away to the Boltons in order to fulfill his political plans.

In fact, the King of the Ironborn knew that giving his younger son as hostage to the Boltons was a certain, easy way to strengthen the alliance between House Bolton and House Greyjoy. He would obviously benefit from the arrangement with a strong northern territory, since it would entail the achievement of more power among the other regions in Westeros. And it was evident that letting Rinald live with the Bolton was a condition he was more than willing to grant for the purpose of facilitating his plans.

“You can’t be serious,” Ermal uttered shocked, still in denial.

“Oh, _can’t I_?” His tone was cold, meant to tease and provoke. It sent a spark of ice running down Ermal’s back.

Since Rinald was born, Ermal had always taken care of him, protecting him in every way he could and doing his utmost to ensure that he’d grow up with a kind and gentle soul. And the famished helplessness he felt now filled him with rage and despair. The Boltons were well known for being one of the most barbarian peoples in both Westeros and Essos and the mere thought of sending his younger brother among them made his blood ran cold. It was like throwing him to the wolves. They would surely bring him up as one of them, instilling their cruel values and traditions in him. He would be irreversibly changed.

Ermal shook his hand almost imperceptibly as though dispelling those frightening thoughts. That is when it hit him. There was actually one option, an alternative which would be preferable to this horrid possibility. He didn’t hesitate.

“Send me, instead. I’ll go in his place.”

The words came out rapidly, boldly. Ermal would give his own life for the life of his brother. He was certain of that, he would do it for real, without thinking twice.

A booming laugh echoed in the room.

“Are you really sure you want to do it?” his father asked, evidently amused by the younger’s proposal.

Ermal held his father’s stare without faltering but remaining adamant in his offer to exchange his own life for Rinald’s.

“I won’t let you anyway,” the king drawled slowly, “I need you here.”

Tightness constricted the prince’s chest as his eyes flashed with indignation and anger.

The Iron King then leaned casually against the desk. There was a moment of silence where he watched his son haughtily, knowing the younger was rallying his courage and doing his best to keep a level head. Ermal’s back was rigid, his expression fearless.

“So, don't you wish to congratulate me, Ermal?" he asserted, something sinister glittering in his eyes.

“Congratulate you?” echoed the prince, sounding indignant. He stared at him in irritation, taking in the lazy grin and aloof posture.

“Yes. Even you have to admit that an alliance with the Boltons is rather advantageous. Now I’m a step closer to sitting on the Iron Throne, and soon I’ll be the first Greyjoy to rule over the Seven Kingdoms,” he proclaimed, not bothering to hide his smugness.

With a swift movement he took the book hiding the letter in its inside. The precious letter was then taken and carefully placed in the drawer below.

It appeared as though he had finished talking, but then, “Tomorrow I’ll give the letter to lord Ryswell. Soon, your brother will live with the Boltons to keep our alliance somewhat stable. I’m sure Rinald’ ll live up to his family’s reputation.”

Ermal furrowed his brow with fear and alarm.

His father’s hand went then to grab some documents put in disorder on the desk. Something he had been probably dealing with before Ermal’s interruption.

“Now go back to your chambers. I have work to do,” he dismissed him with a hand, not even bothering to look at him. On the contrary, he swiftly turned away from his son, turning his back on him in order to concentrate on his affairs.

Ermal squeezed his eyes shut, shaken to the core. An acute loathing welled up inside of him, consuming him slowly. Panic and desperation mixed together and made it impossible for Ermal to see past anything other than the horror that was about to befall his young brother. Initially, he had gone to his father to make things clear, just because he needed to get a clarification of the situation. He had been under the illusion that it was no more than a misunderstanding and once he had realized it was the truth, a tiny part of him had even thought he could talk some sense into him.

But he was wrong. A sudden sense of absolute hopelessness kindled inside the prince’s chest. Then Ermal took a decision. His gaze fell on the paper knife his father always kept on his desk and, with a shaky hand, he took it. His feet were near silent as they slid across the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to his father’s figure. His heart raced faster. His grip on the handle tightened further, though it felt impossible, and his breathing hitched. As soon as he came right behind him, he did not hesitate and abruptly stabbed his father repeatedly in the side.

A sudden dread hit him at the core as he proceeded to pull the knife out. The lifeless body thudded on the ground and a small yelp escaped Ermal’s lips. He carelessly dropped the knife on the stone floor and, with a heavy feeling in his stomach, heard as it noisily hit the ground echoing together with the sound of the crackling fire. He threw the letter in the fireplace and left the room immediately after watching the last corner burn.

***

At a certain point Ermal went still and quiet. Fabrizio wasn’t looking straight at him but could hear him letting out a slight sigh. Since the moment Claudio had assigned him the mission, Fabrizio had obviously made some suppositions, trying to form an overall picture of the situation; however, he had never imagined things might have gone that way. Of course lately he had suspected that Ermal must evidently have had his own reasons for going that far, but now everything was finally clear to Fabrizio. And clear was also the idea that Fabrizio now had of Ermal. By now, the achievement of his mission was beyond doubt out of the question. What deeply upset him was the shameful awareness of having actually thought about killing Ermal.

It was night already and the light of the moon scarcely penetrated the extreme thickness of the clouds. Fabrizio and Ermal stood up and, after a last glance at the sea, the younger started to walk towards his home. Fabrizio didn’t take long to reach him and they continued the road side by side. Silence kept them company for awhile then. Every now and then, Fabrizio looked at Ermal, observing him for a little while. He couldn’t help but continue thinking about everything he had just told him, and given his tense frame and downcast eyes, it was fair to assume that Ermal was keeping to muse on it, too, reliving once again what had happened.

Fabrizio thought about it for a long moment, considering whether or not to do it, and then he simply reached out and, with the slightest hesitation, took Ermal’s hand, gently entwining their fingers.

Strange how such a simple, kind gesture could instill such warmth inside Ermal. A warm tingling sensation quickly spread through his body and his lips curved into a mild smile.


	6. Chapter 6

_Portami via_

_dai riflessi del passato_

_perché torneranno_

The book about Dornish legends and traditions Fabrizio had given to Ermal really piqued the prince’s interest. Fabrizio couldn’t imagine how happy he had managed to make him with his little gift, how much it had meant to Ermal. He couldn’t imagine that, every day, Ermal would go back home after finishing his work at the dock, smiling at the mere thought of reading some new legends and anecdots about his new home. Fabrizio surely did not know that Ermal would usually read a bit of it whenever he had some spare time, curious and eager as he always had been to discover new things. Reading was actually something he would never get tired of, and Dornish culture and traditions were no exception. Having spent almost all his life in company of his beloved books, Ermal could easily spend hours completely lost in the blurry lines. Before leaving the Iron Islands, reading was a cozy, soothing way to evade from his reality, his harsh reality were fear used to gnaw at his days. Books invited a conversation with his thoughts, one unspoken and kind, they knew how to hold him without enchaining him. Therefore he was always fond of reading new stories and hence, Fabrizio’s gift turned out to be truly fascinating as well as entertaining, since it kept him busy in his evenings, his brown eyes widening as he flicked through the yellowish pages.

That specific late afternoon, Ermal was wholly into the legend of the heroine Nymeria, the warrior queen who managed to cross into Dorne from Essos. Apparently, she was able to flee the dragonlords of Valyria and led more than 10,000 ships across the narrow sea to land at Dorne, where she finally married Mors Martell, thus forever unifying the realm under Martell rule.

 _What a woman,_ Ermal couldn’t help but acknowledge, _Dornish in spirit before she ever was in flesh._

He read the last lines of her story with admiration in his eyes. It didn’t surprise him that she was held in high esteem throughout Dorne.

Then he turned the page along with his thoughts. But once he had just concluded the legend, the sound of someone knocking on the door diverted him from his book. His first thought was that Fabrizio had forgotten to tell him something or had just come to say goodbye after finishing his work, so he went to open the door absent-mindedly.

“Fabbrì…?” he started but stopped as soon as he realized to be face to face with Venditti. “Antonello!” he exclaimed happily, without noticing the bewildered look on the older man’s face, who was actually momentarily dazed by the situation. However, Venditti did no more than raise his eyebrows slightly before relaxing in a little smile, relieved to find the younger clearly safe and sound after those weeks in his absence.

“Hi, lad,” he said warmly.

“I wasn't expecting you before some days,” Ermal replied, pleasently surprised to find him there.

“Yes, well, the wind was surprisingly fair so we luckily managed to arrive a bit earlier than expected. I left the crew at the dock to unload the ship’s cargo. Well, I hope they can at least deal with that,” he grumbled.

For a moment, Ermal _c_ huckled to himself. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the old man’s irritable temper until now _._ At this point, he moved aside so as to let the man step inside. Antonello didn’t wait a minute before entering and taking a seat at the kitchen table, and Ermal followed him right after, already knowing that the captain had a lot to tell him.

“So, first things first,” the Captain started, “as you asked me, I come bearing news from the Iron Islands.”

Ermal took a deep breath, tensing slightly. “Tell me.”

“Well, actually, I have to admit that the situation is generally better than what I imagined. Lords and nobles are currently looking for a suitable regent until the young prince comes of age.”

Ermal was listening very attentively to him.

“It would be a matter of few weeks, I believe, before they find someone to look after your brother and rule over the Iron Islands.” He didn’t miss the worried expression on the younger’s face, though. “Anyway, this regent would only rule for some years. Besides, I doubt he’d be worse than your father,” he hastened to add with a low tone.

Ermal gave a weak nod in agreement. “So they want another Greyjoy to rule the Iron Islands,” he pointed out matter-of-factly, like he was simply confirming something he was already certain of.

In fact, rather uniquely, the Ironborn elected their king through the ancient ceremony of _Kingsmoot_. Following the death of the previous King, all the available captains of longships from the various islands of the region came together to make the choosing. Even if House Greyjoy had been the dominant house in the land for a while, Ermal knew that though the power tended to stay within the family, nothing was legal without the Kingsmoot. Therefore, though the heir of the previous King may feel to be the rightful King of the Ironborn, no one was legally entitled to the Salt Throne unless chosen by the Kingsmoot. Even Venditti was aware of this tradition.

“They do. Apparently, they respected the dead king so much that they chose to give directly the Salt Throne to another Greyjoy, in his honour. Someone with the same blood as your father to continue the dynasty.” His words were low but deliberate and distinct.

“Well, that was to be expected, I suppose,” Ermal answered flatly. “Anyway, how is Rinald? Do you know if he’s alright?” he asked with some urgency.

Venditti pressed his lips together and took some moments before anwering, “Well, your brother is… _confused_.”

Ermal just gave him a sad smile in response.

Venditti drew in a long breath and spoke, “Actually, there’s something else I think you really should know.”

“What is it?”

He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Well, they haven’t given up looking for you. Apparently, the Ironborn still want you dead, lad.”

“I'd be surprised if they didn't...” Ermal replied bitterly.

The captain’s gaze was flitting around the room, never settling on Ermal for long.

“Just-” he passed a hand through his hair, “just be careful, Ermal,” he pleaded earnestly.

“I will.”

Antonello watched him for a long moment, seeing how serious and resolute the younger’s expression had become. Then, he sensibly decided to change the topic to something lighter. “Anyway,” he began, “I brought you something.” He quickly reached into the left pocket of his coat and pulled out something. Ermal didn’t even have the time to utter a word, that he immediately saw Antonello handing him a small book. The older man raised his gaze and met a very surprised prince.

“Honestly, I have no idea what it is about. I saw it the moment we were about to leave the dock and I just took it for you. After all, it’s time you start to have your own library even here in Sunspear, don’t you think?”

Happiness radiated suddenly through Ermal, his mood lightening considerably thanks to Venditti’s words.

“Thank you, really,” he said with joy as he took the book in his hands.

It was in a terrible state though, the corners of the pages had clearly been watered somehow and it smelled faintly of salt and dust. The pages within were brittle and what remained of the book’s original stitching was barely holding it together. Moreover, the first page began in the middle of a sentence, suggesting that there were probably some pages missing. And from what he read at the moment, Ermal assumed it was most likely a children’s book. He smiled, thinking that it was a great piece to start a private library.

However, his attention turned away from the book as soon as he heard Venditti letting out a long yawn.

“You look exhausted, Antonello. You should rest a bit,” he suggested, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too,” replied the captain, standing up.

Ermal rose from his chair, taking the book with him, and started to go towards his room.

“Ah, Ermal?”

A mass of dark curls peeked out from the door, “Mh?”

“Where you--where you waiting for someone else before I arrived?” he asked calmly.

Only now did Ermal remember saying Fabrizio’s name while opening the door, since he was pretty sure it was him and, as it appeared, Antonello had heard it. “Oh, not exactly. I only assumed it was Fabrizio since he often comes here either for talking for awhile or for going for a walk,” he explained easily.

There was a short silence and then Antonello spoke again. “Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” Ermal stated with no hesitation.

That day, numerous new goods arrived at the dock together with Venditti and his ship, and that meant that the crew was still busy finishing to unload all the cargo since the previous night. One after the other, men proceeded to cross the wooden bridge carrying the merchandising from the _Under the Sign of Pisces_ to their warehouse. As it soon turned out, the dock was pretty crowded and busy already, and it was clear that Ermal would’ve been of no use there. For this reason, Antonello gave him some time off, telling him to come back in a couple of days considering that his men were nothing but lazy good-for-nothings. Delighted as he was to have some time for himself, Ermal quickly walked away from the dock, deciding to wander around the city for awhile.

And there it was again, that silence. The kind of silence which was eerily unnatural, like a dawn devoid of birdsong. Ermal had walked all morning around the lost alleys of Sunspear, choosing to avoid the most crowded areas where masses of people always shuffled through the ancient streets. And in that calmness the houses of the town glistened indistinctly, it was all a light dream, pleasant, vast and silent. Now it seemed to him like a wavy sea, now like a delicate cloud, then again like something infinitely clear, becoming clear all of a sudden.

Afterwards, he arrived along the edge of the water, letting the warm salty air blow his hair away from his shoulders as the cool water lapped over his toes. It was as if the sea suffered and remained silent with whom was gazing at it. Ermal often found himself wondering where the sea would end, where you didn’t have to close your eyes in order to dream.

There was silence, endless silence except for sporadic absurd brushstroke moments. No noise now consumed his weak senses, gray skies melted away leaving him engrossed in his candid silence full of everything and void of himself. He walked quietly, with his pockets full of syllables and letter shavings that he had gathered over the past couple of days. He had been thinking a lot and the thoughts were louder and louder. But he could not find the words. He’d whittled away fragments that never found cohesion, put them in his pockets so as to figure out later, when his mind wasn’t running so hot. And now, that drowning silence became him as he stopped at the dock edge, took all the jagged slivers which would be sentences out with his hands, and scattered them on the dusty ground where he decided to crouch. It was early in the morning against a background of sea and sky and Ermal could feel the panting of the seagulls flying overhead to the north but he didn’t strain to listen. To the West, the onshore breeze was blowing hard enough to whip the rabbit ears of his inside out pockets, but he didn’t feel it yet. Looking down at all those fragmented thoughts, he stopped himself from piecing together a coherent sentence, from structuring what the architecture of that breeze had started to. No, he simply stood there with his head down focused on the dried, fragrant mixture of what before might have been an understanding.

He watched it as if he was still in the castle during that night, standing just outside Rinald’s bedroom to call him to dinner, knowing that soon there wouldn’t be another word that he could hear uttered from his cheerful mouth. He reached down, picked up a grunt or a laugh, or it might have been a _ka_ or a _tion_. Only now did he feel the cool wind. He vividly remembered the warmth radiating from the small earth in his private room being sucked out of the open window overlooking the sea, lost in that white, dreamy blue panorama. He thought of the happiest of smiles appearing on his little brother’s face as soon as he had managed to read a full coherent sentence for the first time in his life, after long afternoons spent indoors with Ermal patiently teaching him how to read and write. His beloved mother had died giving birth to Rinald, her second son, but he was the person Ermal loved the most nonetheless. The distant memories when Rinald was no more than a young child still hovered around him, when he had uttered his very first words and when later on he had begun to get curious about everything surrounding him.

Then Ermal sat down on the dirt and kept shuffling the sounds: _The child’s laughter shook in_ _him_ _so violently that_ _he_ _couldn’t help but laugh back._ _He_ _put_ _his younger brother_ _on_ _his_ _shoulders,_ _Rinald_ _holding intertwined hands across_ _his_ _forehead, and_ _they_ _walked_ _around the younger’s roo_ _m_ _. The child_ _merrily_ _calling his older brother’s name and touching lightly his curly_ _hair from above as_ _they_ _walked..._ was as far as he got when he looked up, saw a lonely seagull pass by, heard a wave break below, then went right back into it, word by infant word.

Rinald was the mirth bringing a sparkle of light to Ermal’s white and dirty soul, and the idea of him growing up without him by his side filled Ermal with deep sadness and apprehension. However, even though they were now separated by a great distance, Ermal knew that Rinald would always be in an unexpected smile, in a weary step, in a high jump giving chills, a slow breath scanning time that no one would ever stop.

He would always be with him in his top right pocket.

It was already late in the afternoon when Ermal decided to go back to the dock in order to look for Fabrizio. He had quietly lingered near the sea for quite some time, completely losing track of time of the passing hours. Time was always in abeyance whenever he was intently gazing at the sea, utterly rapt and looking almost expressionless. Nevertheless, he really felt a sudden flare of joy coming back the moment he glimpsed Fabrizio waving towards him with a smile from afar. And, honestly, his delight could barely be concealed when Fabrizio proposed going to see an ancient temple, the same temple they hadn’t managed to see some days before, because Fabrizio couldn’t remember the right way.

“This time I know how to get there, I promise!” Fabrizio ensured sheepishly.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, old man… we’ll see...” Ermal teased him, smiling as the other chuckled amused.

“And there’s something I want to show you once we get there,” he said simply.

Ermal smiled watching him with the corner of his eye but didn’t insist, preferring to keep it a surprise.

As it turned out, it was undeniable that this time Fabrizio actually remembered how to get to the temple; however, neither of them had expected it would take them so long. As a matter of fact, the sun was just going down and the entire valley was shimmering in the light, but they didn’t arrive yet.

“I’m sorry we won’t arrive in time to see the sunset from there...” Ermal sighed.

“Oh, but that’s not what I wanted to show you,” he smirked.

This time Ermal was unable to hide his surprise, so he looked at him, tilting his head curiously, “Mh? I thought so.”

“Ahah, come on come on, we’re almost there,” Fabrizio said, pleased with himself for having succeeded in keeping it a surprise until the end.

Just by walking through the beautiful alley of cypresses towards the temple, the whole place emanated a sense of undying enchantment. And as soon as they found the temple right before their eyes, Ermal marvelled at the sight. At last, he too was a silent witness of the unique mystic and mysterious atmosphere of the place and of the many legends it had inspired through the years.

It was true that of the original temple remained only a magnificent shell among the huge valley but, perhaps, the impoverished and decaying ruins could boast of captivating its visitors even more than the original structure. Ermal quickened his pace, almost running until he stopped once arrived at the center of the abandoned temple. It was completely roofless, thus allowing a magnificient view of the sky above, which was now darker since the sunset.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Fabrizio asked him once he had reached him.

“Now I understand why this is your favourite place in Sunspear. It’s breathtaking, Bizio.”

Fabrizio could see the unmistakable amazement wihin his dark eyes and remembered that Ermal actually hadn’t seen much more than the Iron Islands in his whole life, no doubt he had always wanted to travel to visit different regions and no wonder he was now so mesmerized by this place.

“Yes, it truly is. Even if it is now roofless, they say it once was high and majestic. Some rivalries among old regions condemned the temple to a slow but irreversible decline, and at some point the upper part collapsed destroying the greatest part of the roof. The temple was eventually abandoned and the bricks and stones were used by the people of the area to build houses and other small temples.”

“Oh, I see. But, personally, I find it more fascinating this way. I think true beauty isn’t subject to wear,” Ermal said. “To which deity was it dedicated?”

“Well, there are numerous legends which surround its origins and history, so it is not known with certainty. But with time people started to come here for personal reasons. I believe that although no one really knows to which god it originally was, everyone simply comes here to pray, regardless to which kind of faith. It depends on what you see in this place, I think,” Fabrizio stated sincerely.

“And you? What do you see in this place, Fabbrì?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Fabrizio raised his gaze, biting his lower lip. “To me, faith is like an invisible hand. It’s energy that builds up, like an illuminating space that gives a purpose to this life.”

When he realised Ermal had become suddenly silent, he decided to ask him the same thing, “What about you, Ermal? Do you believe in some deity?”

Ermal shook his head, “As Ironman I’d be supposed to worship the sea deity of the Drowned God, but the truth is I don’t believe in any god. I believe in _humans_ and their ability to survive, to thrive.” Then he sat on the ground, waiting for Fabrizio to do the same before continuing to speak. “You know, the Drowned God is said to have made the Ironborn in his own likeness, and that means to pillage, rape, carve out kingdoms, make their names known in fire and blood and hold dominion over all the waters of the earth. And since its religion supports the Ironmen's pirate culture, my father was obviously the most faithful believer.” His delicate featurs hardened. “But it was only on the surface. Everything about him was about appearances and reputation. He had nothing but scorn for deities.” In just a split second, Ermal had turned from relaxed to guarded and nervous.

“I would expect so,” Fabrizio uttered lowly, letting out a long breath.

And then Ermal looked up and saw the stars. They illuminated the darkness and his tension crumbled to dust beneath his feet. The lies, the hatred, the apprehension--they now lingered at a distance.

“Here’s what I wanted to show you. The view of the starry sky is unbelievable from down here,” the words came out as a whisper, almost timidly as though Fabrizio didn’t want to disturb the marvelous spectacle.

Ermal tilted his head, gazing upward, eyes more open than they could be in the fullness of day, not looking at one star, yet somehow seeing them all at once.

“Yeah, it’s indeed wonderful.”

And just like that, they lazily lay down on the ground looking up at the sky and started talking of this and that, simply enjoying each other’s presence under a flood of stars. Every now and then, Ermal would look at Fabrizio with a curious expression on his face due to something particularly interesting the other had said, his head tilted in a myriad of silent questions reflected in his dusky eyes like many little stars.

“--but, now that I think about it, maybe you happen to know that book,” when he received no answer, Fabrizio tried again, “Mh? Ermal...?” the instant he turned his head to the side towards the younger man he couldn’t stop a soft smile from spreading across his face, Ermal’s eyes were closed and his breath was slow and regular. At a certain point he must have fallen asleep, out of nowhere, gently lulled by the night sky and Fabrizio’s calm voice. The tenderness of the sleeping young man next to him was enough to fill Fabrizio with warmth. He looked at him with a soft smile, then decided to let him sleep peacefully. Fabrizio turned his head to face the sky again. He didn’t sleep though, preferring instead to stare at the stars above him quietly, with his mind able to meander freely in random thoughts.

Trapped. Ermal felt trapped. He could hear his heart rate speeding up increasingly and his mind was blank white. He couldn't think properly, only anxiety, fear and loathing were gradually taking over his consciousness. His head whipped violently side to side, searching for a brushstroke of light. His breathing getting more erratic, his heart beating so loud it echoed in his ears.

The soft pitter-patter sound of rain colliding with the outside stone walls of the castle slowly became distant as Ermal's thoughts became dazed and his eyes unfocused.

The dark walls of the room seemed to shrink more and more in his mind, only serving him to panic even more. His eyes darted around, scanning the room desperately.

He saw flashes of a sneering man at the edges of his vision, tentatively crawling into his peripheral vision.

“ _This_ _blood running through your veins will wrap around you_ _like a_ _chain.”_

Ermal jumped; the voice echoed in his head much louder than it should have and simultaneously as a whisper from just behind his neck. He spun, looking around; only darkness met him.

“ _Albeit against your will,_ _it_ _will always remind you of what you are.”_

His trembling figure stayed as silent as possible in the cold room, he closed his ebony eyes shut, scared to open them in case he would see something there… or rather _someone_ lurking in the dark moist room.

“ _For honor, for legacy.”_

He winced visibly. Curling up, he tried to place his arms over his curly hair, as if trying to protect himself. His breathing was heavy and eager to feed his starving lungs.

“ _And mostly, for your family.”_

Ermal swallowed hard and cowered as sharp anxiety and stinging fear surrounded him. He could hear that dreaded voice echoing in his mind and his hands went to cover his ears, as if he could block it out that easily.

“ _You will become...”_

He closed his eyes shut tightly, waiting for the voice in his head to leave him alone.

“ _Me_.”

An unwilling tear ran now shamefully down his cheek and he wiped it off with a trembling hand.

But, unexpectedly, that voice was replaced by another one. Undoubtedly less well-known, yet definetely sweeter, softer.

_Ermal..? Ermal..!_

Ermal felt someone grabbing him by the shoulders, urgently calling his name over and over again.

He waked up suddenly in the middle of the night panting heavily. His thoughts disordered and confused, and for a moment he wasn't even sure where he was but then he met with a pair of warm brown eyes. And although they weren’t actually looking right back at him, the acute worry deep within them was so visible, so evident, that Ermal was able to clear his mind a bit, finally understanding where he was and, most importantly, _where he was not_ _anymore_ _._

His mind had drifted to a hazy place from his adolescence, cruelly messing up with his locked memories.

But Fabrizio was awake, lost in his thoughts and gazing at the sky above him, when he had felt Ermal suddenly agitating in his sleep next to him. He had then looked closely at him and seen how his eyelids trembled slightly. And while that certainly was unpleasant and caused him to look at him with concern, it wasn’t the worst thing. Because at some point Ermal had started to toss nervously in his sleep, the rhythm of his breathing had increased considerably and he looked utterly unease and upset, eyes closed tightly and a grimace on his face. What was concern turned then into palpable worry, therefore Fabrizio decided to wake him somehow from whatever nightmare he was having.

Now Ermal could feel the other man's hands on his shoulders. This time, though, Fabrizio was the one to search eye contact and Ermal the one to flee from it.

Fear was always there. Ermal usually considered himself decent at hiding it, masking it. But it ruthlessly hid everywhere, this _fear_ , in his memories, in his dreams. It thrived in the darkness with fine winding tendrils strangling his heart. Even though he had escaped from it once and for all, could it be that, maybe, there wasn’t actually any getting away from it?

“Ermal… Ermal, please. Look at me,” Fabrizio whispered gently, trying desperately to make him calm down yet giving him all the time he needed. His eyes frantically searched Ermal’s… waiting. Eventually, Ermal looked back at him, the fear within his widened eyes mirroring the grave concern in Fabrizio’s.

“I-I was… he...” he began, yet what followed was engulfed in tremors. Then suddenly a tear fell down and he believed he was drowning. He was gasping and was so visibly _frightened_ that Fabrizio’s heart clenched painfully. _I'd like to hold you tight and tell you_ _everything’s fine_ _,_ was all Fabrizio could think in that moment.

“Ermal, listen to me. Just because you feel it, doesn't mean it's there,” Fabrizio told him calmly, marking each word slowly. With that, Ermal seemed to recover a bit, his heart rate slowed down while he forced himself to breathe more regularly. He sat back straight, taking long deep breaths.

Fabrizio waited a few seconds for him to calm down before reaching his hand out towards Ermal’s back. He was about to touch him, to just stroke his back gently, but he stopped an instant before doing so. His hand ended up brushing almost imperceptedly against the other’s back until it barely ghosted over Ermal’s shirt. It then closed in a fist and sadness clouded his features. Fabrizio withdrew his hand in a heartbeat and emitted a trembling sigh.

 _“_ Fabbrì… I can hear you thinking,” Ermal said lowly with a sad smile.

Fabrizio let out an even heavier and shakier sigh. “It’s just… I can’t imagine how a father could do something like _that_ ...” he stated bitterly.

The corners of Ermal’s eyes crinkled and his hand nervously opened and closed repeatedly .

“My father has always been a _monster_ ,” he said with vehemence, torturing his closed fist all the while. His nightmare came back to his mind and this time everything was more vivid, however he was much calmer now, well aware of his surroundings. The content of it flashed through him, even so, with half-closed eyes the world was far away and he could think clearly now. And this blood of his which tasted a bit of monster and a bit of himself made him think he’d have liked to thank him. To thank him because he wasn’t there.

Fabrizio looked at him and wondered what Ermal was thinking, what exactly had upset him so much. But he did not ask. With time, he had learnt to know him well enough to understand that if Ermal wanted to, he would talk to him without holding back.

Ermal, on the other hand, couldn’t help but ask himself how much strength was it needed to become weak, to destroy the shield that had always protected him. But two eyes looking at him, so close and so real, made him forget wavering words and confused his thoughts.

And so Ermal started to talk, a bit hesitant at first, but quickly let his words flow without constraint.  
It was clear that Ermal did not want to look him in the eye, so Fabrizio turned slightly with his shoulder brushing against him and his gaze firm somewhere in front of them. He thought that it probably would be easier that way, without looking at each other, with only the calm wind stealing Ermal’s occasional unsteady gasps and filling the silence instead of Fabrizio. Biting his lip and falling momentarily silent every now and then, Ermal told him everything, unveiling every part of his soul to Fabrizio.

Fabrizio knew tears would lead to sympathy, hence he merely listened to him without interrupting him, clenching his fists several times during Ermal’s transparent, candid talking.

And even though he remained silent and chose to avoid any kind of physical contact between them, the mere presence of Fabrizio close to him embraced Ermal like a blanket of safety.

Only after understanding that Ermal had finished talking, did Fabrizio finally find the lost words.

“Being such a monster to your own son is truly unfathomable to me,” he sighed loud and looked sorrowfully at the younger man next to him. While talking, Ermal had unconsciously brought his legs closer to his chest and now his head was carelessly laid between his knees, his face totally hidden by messy curls.

“You know...” Fabrizio faltered for a moment, “I was a father once...”

No sooner had he said that, than Ermal raised his head immediately, his eyes widening in astonishment.

“Really...?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, I had a son, his name was Libero,” Fabrizio said in a low tone.

Ermal’s eyebrows furrowed, for he couldn’t help but notice Fabrizio kept talking in the past tense.

“May I ask you what happened?”

Fabrizio nodded in agreement, “Some years ago, the two of us lived in a small village near Sunspear. During that time there were several raids at the hands of the Lannisters. In a town of blood, among so many wonders, between lemons and seashells they slaughtered sons and daughters. One night--” he hesitated, as his face twisted with an unpleasant memory, “one night, while I was at work, after a random raid a group of men slaughtered the entire village. My son included. He wasn’t even eight years old.”

His words came as a complete shock to Ermal, who was now gazing at Fabrizio with glistening eyes.

“Before becoming a father, I was a much more fragile man. Being a father gives you strength, I’m sure of that,” Fabrizio continued, his voice firmer now, “because, in the end, love always saves.

You know, back then I used to work in a small inn as a cook and I often went through hellish days: cooking meals for so many people all at once and working insane shifts... sometimes I was under a lot of pressure, even though I had been doing that job for a long time. But then I just came home and simple gestures were more than enough, like taking Libero’s hand or playing with him for awhile, to feel a charge of energy that made me feel ten years younger. The most beautiful sound was surely the noise of my son playing happily in his room, a noise which tasted of life! And although I knew we weren't rich, I didn't feel like we were missing anything.”

The firmness in his voice lessened slightly then. “Since that night, I feel like a part of me is always missing. He was the best part of me. But although I miss him, I do know I’ll never let his memory die, he’s constantly with me,” he revealed bluntly.

Ermal heard him out, giving him his undivided attention. Never would he have immagined that Fabrizio had undergone such a tragedy, let alone the fact he had been a father. It was strange, he thought, how little you can know about someone even when you spoke to them basically every day.

He reached out and, only after having gently placed his hand over Fabrizio’s, did he manage to say, “I’m sure you were a great father, Fabrizio.”

That night they had trusted each other with a sky full of stars being their only witness. Their souls had gotten closer, had _smelled_ each other… it was true, they were two _survivors_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi sembrava giusto dirvi che "No noise now consumed his weak senses, gray skies melted away leaving him engrossed in his candid silence full of everything and void of himself" oltre a essere uno dei taaaanti easter eggs in questa fic, è anche la traduzione che ho fatto di "Nessun Rumore", il primo brano che Ermal ha depositato a Siae nel 2006. :)  
> In originale è così:  
> "Nessun rumore ora  
> mi consuma i sensi deboli  
> i cieli grigi si sciolgono  
> lasciandomi assorto  
> nel mio silenzio candido  
> pieno di tutto e vuoto di me"
> 
> Comunque, lo so, avevo promesso il Fluff, ma temo che dovrà aspettare fino al prossimo capitolo...🙈


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, fluff 💛💙

_Solo luce fra i tuoi giorni bui,_

_s_ _arà questo che io farò_

Fabrizio awoke earlier than expected and was momentarily blinded by the sudden bright light filling his room. His long, dark eyelashes fluttered due to the hued rays impertinently seeping through the windows. Moving as quietly as possible, Fabrizio managed to sneak out of the bed and slowly dragged his feet towards a small basin next to the door. His hands were soon dipped in the fresh water and then he proceeded to wash his face before eventually running a wet hand through his messy hair. With a long yawn, he banished the residue of his drowsiness and blinked, finally able to see clearly. His unkempt shirt was soon replaced by a light, blue tunic decorated with pale grayish details. Then it was with a swift, yet silent movement that he opened the door, but didn’t leave the room without first having cast a glance at the curly haired young man sleeping in his bed. Fabrizio smiled softly as he watched how peacefully the younger was sleeping, glad that he was finally able to rest for awhile.

Given everything that had happened the night before, it had turned out that neither of them wanted to remain alone, they really didn’t feel like going home and miserably pretending to sleep. So, as a result, Fabrizio had offered to share his bedroom with Ermal, reasoning it would be easier that way for the both of them. And, apparently, he was right.

With a last look at Ermal, Fabrizio turned and left the room, quietly closing the door so as not to wake him up. The moment he set foot outside his doorway, his senses were overwhelmed by light seeping through the clouds, igniting the rich hues with such great variation. Every colour was brighter under the light, in this flowing of fast images. What also hit him, though, was the dry heat of a typical mid-morning in Sunspear, therefore he immediately rolled his sleeves up to his forearms and then headed towards the big market in order to buy what he needed. As a matter of fact, it was taken for granted that he would have lunch with Ermal and, needless to say he’d be the one to prepare something to eat. Besides, if Fabrizio had to be honest, something told him he’d better not particularly trust Ermal’s culinary skills. But even considering how good Fabrizio was at cooking, coming up with something with the few supplies he had left would be challenging even for him. That’s why he was heading towards the market, walking at a brisk pace because he wanted to go back in time before Ermal would wake up. And it went without saying that he was also very eager to greet Niccolò, since he hadn’t seen him in a while.

Fabrizio arrived at the market and started to scan his surroundings, looking for Niccolò in that sea of people. Just before it happened, there was this vague sense of familiarity which washed over Fabrizio as he continued to walk further. It was as if what he was experiencing had already happened because once again he could hear Niccolo’s loud voice from behind the stand, and he was shouting, almost yelling to whom should have been his potential customers. A knowing smile made its way across Fabrizio’s face as he quickly walked over other stalls, just to finish right in front of Niccolò. And Nico’s eyes lightened visibly when he noticed him.

“Oh, Fabbrì! It’s been a while!”

Fabrizio got closer and didn’t wait a moment longer before wrapping his arms over Nic and pulling him into an embrace. He quickly patted his back affectionately, before replying, “I know, sorry. I’ve been around, lately.”

With the corner of an eye he grasped that there was still plenty of fruit inside Nico’s stall, a sign suggesting him that he hadn’t managed to sell many goods.

“Why is it that I hear you basically shouting at people whenever I come here at the market?” he told him, forcing himself to sound at least somewhat serious.

Niccolò grimaced slightly and crossed his arms, “It’s just that sometimes some men of the upper class happen to come this way with that smirk of those who believe they're right… I speak with gestures, I don't know their language, you know me, Fabbrì” he simply shrugged.

Fabrizio found it extremely hard to suppress a chuckle, “Yeah, I sure do. But I’m of the view that if you shout less, you’ll have more customers,” he said warmly.

The younger laughed a bit and guided a hand to his hair sheepishly. “You’re right, I’ll try, I’ll try.” Then he looked around, ensuring that no one else was listening, and lowered his voice.

“Anyway, how’s it going with the mission? Did you make sure that the prince is actually guilty?”

Fabrizio swallowed hard and went pale for a moment. The truth was that he had stopped thinking about the mission altogether since the accident with the fountain, and as soon as he had found out the whole truth, in his mind there was only _Ermal_ , with no shadow whatsoever of his mission. And, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t seen Nic much lately, Niccolò deserved to know the truth, he needed to know once and for all that the mission was out of the question.

“Yes well, about that, I just want you to know that we won’t accomplish the mission anymore.”

Niccolò looked puzzled at that, but Fabrizio was quick to continue right away, “I certainly won’t kill Ermal. But we’ll talk about this with more time, don’t worry.”

Whenever Niccolò wanted or needed to talk, Fabrizio had always given him some precious advice, he had always known exactly how to be close to him, without judging him. Without making comments. Because sometimes “ _I understand”_ was so much stronger than some easy, moral teachings. And Nic knew he was lucky to have him as a friend. Therefore, the least he could do was trust him, believe in him no matter what. So, he blinked, taking the time to process what the other had told him, and then nodded slowly.

“It’s all right, Fabbrì. If you say so, I believe you. You’ll explain to me better some other time.”

“Thank you, Nico.”

Fabrizio took a long breath, now finally releaved, and while doing so he noticed a bunch of yellow flowers carefully lying near the fruit.

“What about these?” he asked with a lightened heart, pointing at them.

There was an unusual kind of sparkle within Nico’s eyes.

“Oh, they are dandelions,” he said simply. He looked up at a confused Fabrizio while shifting weight from side to side.

“Well, actually, there’s this pretty girl selling flowers just over there and we talk rather often… well, basically every time we can,” he explained with a smile, “And when she sings quietly those refrains of her and twirls her hair in her fingers, I can’t help thinking that the flowers she sells are of the same shade as her hair. And this morning she came here and just gave those flowers to me.”

He scratched the back of his head. He had talked like he had his head high in the clouds with pure joy and looked so visibly happy that Fabrizio acknowledged he had never seen him like this. He was undoubtedly in love with the flower girl.

“Well, she seems really special. Then, don’t let her go,” he said warmly. He just smirked and winked at Niccolò. “Listen to the advice of someone who has put a lot of road in store,” he concluded, putting a hand on the younger’s shoulder. In that moment, Fabrizio’s eyes laid on the lovely flowers, thus taking a closer look at them.

The petals of the humble dandelions were the gold amid the green, a little sunshine. It was a radiant sun, bringing sudden flashes of perfect dark, long curls and bright eyes in his mind. He could see him without any image at all, only an infusion of joy.

“Well, I really should go back home now,” he said moving away from Nico. “I’ll take this one with me, bye!” he exclaimed as he grabbed a single dandelion with his hand.

Niccolò observed him in silence for a brief moment, his mouth opening and closing in surprise.

“B-but, Fabbri, wait--!” he shouted.

But Fabrizio was already blending into the crowd, his back now turned to Niccolò. He raised his arm, the yellow flower dangling playfully between his fingers, so as to repeatedly wave at Nic with his hand. “See you soon, Nico!”

With time, Fabrizio had learnt that whenever he spent time with Niccolò, he inevitably tended to lose track of time, and this time was obviously no exception. Actually, talking with him had taken more time than he had imagined, therefore he had now to rush to get what he needed and then go back home as soon as possible. To tell the truth, from the moment he had taken that yellow dandelion, Fabrizio had almost forgotten why he had come to the market in the first place, lost as he was in his thoughts. However, he did remember as soon as he saw the stall he was looking for right in front of his eyes. He couldn’t deny that lately he had been in lack of several supplies at home, but since Ermal was his guest for that day, he wanted to prepare him a proper Dornish lunch. And in order to do that he indeed needed to buy some rice and a few spices.

Once he had gotten everything he needed, Fabrizio finally left the market square and headed home with a smile, hoping that Ermal was still sleeping.

Fabrizio arrived home in few minutes and didn’t wait a second longer before dropping his purchases in the kitchen and finally opening the door of his bedroom as quietly as he could manage, taking care not to wake Ermal. He entered the room and suddenly a warm smile spread across his lips.

Ermal was still sleeping peacefully, even though a band of bright sunlight illuminated the side of his face. An arm was hidden under the pillow while his face gently rested near the other. Long curls caressed his neck sweetly, his breathing calm and regular.

Looking at him, Fabrizio felt a rush of pure undeniable tenderness. He took a step nearer the bed and lowered himself down while his smile widened as he prepared to do what he had planned since the moment he had taken away that flower from Nico’s bunch. So, he grabbed the lovely dandelion and immediately drew it nearer and nearer to Ermal’s figure, until he could have very easily brushed his ear with the lemony petals. And that’s exactly what Fabrizio did. Holding the flower carefully by the stem, his hand leaned closer, ending up gently touching Ermal’s ear with such floral mildness, the soft petals delicately tickling his ear before moving sweetly among his dark curls. After few instants, the younger’s body started to move just barely, waking up languidly. Fabrizio didn’t withdraw his hand right away, though, continuing to tickle him lightly a few more seconds. It was only once he had made sure Ermal had definitely woken up that he stopped, leaving the flower gently placed on his ear. Ermal’s eyes opened marginally, his light eyelashes faintly batting against his lids as he blinked repeatedly. Fabrizio’s smile was the first thing Ermal was able to distinguish through his drowsy eyes.

“Fabbrì… what..?”

He tried to raise his head slightly, so as to better face Fabrizio, but as soon as his head raised just barely, he felt something lightweight falling rapidly from his hair just to end up lying on the bed. Ermal let out a gasp of wonder and his lips parted slightly when his gaze focused on the yellow flower. He tilted his head to the side, observing it with curiosity. Shortly after, an unexpected sense of delight filled him when he realized that some tiny soft petals were falling from his hair.

Fabrizio watched him the whole time, capturing with great care each and every vibrant expression decorating Ermal’s face. And he smiled, thinking that their life was basically nothing but an eternal moment, a moment, between the two of them.

“And this?” Ermal asked simply, picking up the flower and staring at it more closely with a surprised yet delighted look.

“Well, I’ve just been at the market and that flower was so beautiful that I couldn’t help but take it for you,” Fabrizio answered, and his smile was unmistakably a little shy now.

“It’s so lovely, thank you,” came the quiet reply. Ermal didn’t avert his gaze from the flower, though. He held the dandelion as if it was joy fashioned into delicate petals.

Fabrizio smiled, watching him in silence for a while, until he slowly straightened up and took a step towards the door.

“So,” he said, turning his head towards Ermal, “I’m going to prepare us something to eat for lunch. In the meantime you can get ready unhurriedly, and in the closet there are clean clothes, you can obviously wear whatever you like. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Ermal ignored his flower for a moment and nodded, thanking Fabrizio with a smile before the other left the room.

Only after stretching out with ease and letting out a small yawn, did Ermal get out of bed. And once he had washed himself, he went to open the closet and finally wore one of Fabrizio’s plain white shirt. When he walked into the kitchen, Fabrizio was already so busy with taking all the stuff he needed, that he didn’t notice Ermal entering the room.

“Wow, Bizio, this room is so clean and tidy, it’d easily pass for the Martell’s kitchen,” he stated, visibly impressed.

Fabrizio turned to look at him and let out a light laughter.

“Well, the kitchen is the heart of the home, Ermal. It’s the only room that will be always clean and tidy, no matter what,” he smirked.

And, indeed, Ermal was right: everything in the kitchen was well ordered.

An assortment of pots, pans, skillets and cauldrons, important tools, they were all put in their proper place.

Ermal went to sit on top of the table, from where he was easily able to see what Fabrizio was doing.

“So, can I help you with something, Fabbrì?”

Fabrizio shook his head. “No, don’t worry. There’s no need to.” He then noticed the curious expression painted on the younger’s face and the way he was studying his movements as if trying to understand what exactly he was cooking. “Besides, I'm not sure how much I trust your cooking skills,” he teased.

Ermal’s lips automatically curved into a small smile, “Well, I may not be a cook, but I’m here in case you need help with something. You never know, at a certain age...” he shrugged and smirked playfully.

Nevertheless, it was true that Ermal didn’t know that much about cooking. Since he was a child, he had clearly been used to opulent banquets and good meals, but he had never really had the chance to try to cook something himself. And that’s the reason why he was now sitting on the table, looking attentively at Fabrizio, with his legs dangling and an interested expression on his face.

Large cauldrons were hooked into place over the fire, in which most of the food was cooked. And as Ermal soon noticed, Fabrizio was adjusting the amount of heat desired by simply moving the hook, closer to the fire to increase heat and further away to decrease it.

Like any respectable cook, Fabrizio was wearing a black apron above his shirt, just like he used to do when he worked at the inn. He prepared some water with salt and then heated it over a very low heat while another small pot was reserved to the melting of the butter and olive oil.

“I hope you’re hungry, Ermal, because today I want you to taste a traditional Dornish dish,” he grinned.

“Oh, I am, actually. So, what exactly are you cooking?” Ermal asked, tilting his body towards Fabrizio with curiosity.

The other allowed himself some seconds to really look at him and the sight of Ermal sitting on top of the table, brown eyes gleaming with curiosity and swinging his feet like a child, was more than enough to melt Fabrizio’s face into a warm smile.

“Well, there are several spices and other sauces, but it’s nothing more than saffron rice”.

“You said _saffron_?” he said rising his eyebrows.

“Yes, saffron. Why do you seem so surprised?”

“Well, I’ve always known saffron is one of the most precious spices in the world. I’ve read about it in some books many years ago and I’ve always wondered what it tasted like because the Iron Islands are too far north and such spices aren’t easy to find there, even at the Castle,” he explained.

Considering that Fabrizio had basically quit cooking Dornish food since he had left Sunspear some years before, he had momentarily forgotten that saffron was such an expensive spice for all the other lands except for Dorne.

“Oh, yes, it’s actually very expensive anywhere but here in Sunspear. It derives from a flower which blooms for only one week each year and only in Dorne, so no wonder it’s considered so precious,” he said simply.

“I see. Now that I think about it, I knew that most saffron found in Westeros is imported, but I never understood where it exactly came from,” Ermal reasoned.

Fabrizio smiled at that, “Well, now that you live here you finally have the chance to taste it and if you’ll like it it’s also rather easy to find around here.”

The younger man nodded happily in response.

At this point, Fabrizio continued to prepare their lunch, adding sliced onion and a large pinch of salt. He then proceeded to cook everything, stirring all the ingredients together with a wooden spoon for some minutes. All the rice was then added and coated in oil and butter until it began to toast.

Meanwhile, Ermal was watching him with interest, catching sight of both what he did and the expressions he made. Here in the kitchen Fabrizio was at one with all this, the food, the spices, the flames, just like a feeling of music even when none was playing. Needless to say, Ermal would sit there on the table all day just to watch him, to _feel_ his smiles more than see them.

After a few minutes, Fabrizio added the saffron and begin to pour the hot water very gradually, a spoon at a time, stirring continually. Several minutes passed in which Ermal started to feel very hungry and, honestly, the inviting aroma spreading in the whole kitchen wasn’t really helpful.

“Does it always take so long to cook saffron?” he whispered more to himself than to Fabrizio.

The other chuckled softly, “Well, actually, you’re not supposed to _cook_ saffron. Saffron is a spice.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ermal swung his feet faster under the table in a playful, almost child-like way.

“Anyway, it’s the rice which has to cook longer,” Fabrizio continued, “But it’ll be ready in few minutes, I promise.”

After a little while, all the water with salt was absorbed and the rice looked rather creamy. Fabrizio added an egg yolk in order to give a lovely silky richness to the whole thing, a personal trick he had learnt after months of experience at the inn.

All of a sudden, he took a spoonful of sauce and then walked towards Ermal, moving carefully as not to spill it. The spoon was put near Ermal’s mouth.

“Tell me how it is, please,” he said seeing that the look on his face was a combination of perplexity and amusement. Finally, Ermal opened his mouth and tasted the sauce.

“So? How’s it?” Fabrizio asked raising his eyebrows just slightly.

“Hot.” Ermal blinked twice. “But neither tasteless nor too savory. I like it,” he concluded, nodding.

His spontaneity made Fabrizio laugh, “Great! It’s almost ready, then. Just be patient for a little longer, okay?”

“Of course! Are you really sure there’s nothing I can do?”

Fabrizio thought about it for some seconds, that it hit him. “Yes, actually. You could get us two glasses of water. They’re on the top shelf, right there.”

The younger man smiled and got off the table, and went towards the shelf Fabrizio was pointing at.

Meanwhile, Fabrizio simply added a pinch of salt and then served it on the dishes. He finished the recipe by garnishing each with some cheese. As soon as he turned to put the dishes on the table, he saw that his guest had managed to find also two smaller spoons for the both of them.

“Let’s eat then!” he exclaimed before sitting in front of Ermal. “I hope you won’t be disappointed with our special saffron,” he winked.

Slowly, Ermal tried with the first spoonful, savoring the taste of it on his tongue for some moments.

Fabrizio found himself unable to read the other’s expression right now. “Well?”

“Its—it’s _different_.” He licked his lower lip, thinking.

Fabrizio wouldn’t expect such an answer, for sure, so he couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Different in what way?”

Ermal’s lips curved amused, “I mean that it tastes different from anything I used to eat at Pyke”.

At this point, Fabrizio started to eat too, before continuing their conversation. “I see. And so, what do the Ironborn usually eat?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Well, the seven islands that make up the Iron Islands are barely-fertile rocks, therefore fish is the basis of most cuisine. But, generally speaking, cream, eggs, and bacon come together for a decent meal. And the sweetest thing to eat there is a sort of cake made with cheese and honey.”

“Oh, it does sound pretty boring,” Fabrizio thought out loud.

And Ermal couldn’t blame him, though. “It is. Now that I live here I can confirm that everything is far less tasty in the Iron Islands, it’s as if the food lacked something,” he explained.

They kept on talking cheerfully the whole time and Fabrizio was so relieved that the deep fear he had seen filling Ermal’s eyes the night before was disappeared altogether.

A few minutes and some spoonfuls of rice later, Ermal couldn’t deny he was actually beginning to enjoy the taste of saffron. So, once he had basically eaten most of his rice, Ermal decided it was time he informed Fabrizio that he had had a change of heart about the taste of saffron.

“You really are an excellent cook, Bizio,” he said sincerely.

As time slowly went by, Fabrizio abruptly realised how much he had missed these precious little things, just staying home and cooking something special for someone other than himself, and eating together laughing and chattering. He was well aware that sometimes he just needed to take life for what it was. And right now, it truly felt like _home_.

A few days later, Ermal awoke with a feeling of overwhelming melancholy. It was as if he craved something… or rather, as if he _missed_ something. And it wasn’t until he reached the dock to work, that he realized he missed the sea.

Having grown up in the Iron Islands, he had been used to see the sea every day – even if only from his windows, it was a constant in his life. He remembered there were days when he felt a longing for the sea and thus he spent many hours, high in the tower of the castle, just gazing at it. Even though Sunspear was considered a city of sea and he worked at the dock, arriving here and not being able to see the sea whenever he wanted made him feel somewhat unsteady. He felt the lack of the sea's constant and pervasive presence. It instilled a sense of calm in him, of freedom and now he simply missed the gentle breezing of the wind, the harder crash of waves on the rocks, the distant sqwaks of seagulls surrounding him, and he took a deep shuddering breath. He immediately made up his mind to ask Antonello for one of his smaller ships, something which would allow him to go out to sea for some hours, and just stay there with no buildings or streets in sight. Knowing the young man’s love for the sea, Venditti agreed to it right away and lent him a small boat with a single mast and only one sail, a simple boat he used to load and unload cargo. Elated to finally spend some hours in the sea, Ermal immediately decided to ask Fabrizio to come with him, for he knew that with his company the afternoon would have been even better.

Needless to say, Fabrizio accepted straight away, more than happy to spend time just with the curly young man.

Soon after, Ermal was watching the sea, lost in the rhythmic movement of the calm water gently rocking their boat back and forth between the waves. His eyes were steady on the horizon, face aglow with the warm golden rays coming from a cloudless sky. His lips bore the semblance of a relaxed smile, just enough to show that he was enjoying his thoughts, whatever they were. Fabrizio moved closer to him as to make him feel his presence, yet stayed quiet, allowing him to stay lost in the moment a while longer. Ermal turned his head towards him for a moment, before whispering, “How I missed this...”

“It’s really beautiful here,” Fabrizio said leaning over the side of the boat, thus letting the wind play with his messy black hair. “Besides, I must confess that this boat is really nicer than I thought,” he continued, “When you asked me to come with you in the sea, I imagined something different,” he chuckled.

Ermal turned his back to the sea in order to face the other man. “You’re right, it is in good condition because Antonello doesn’t use it very often, really. This boat is just a sort of potential support to load the cargo into the main ship, in case the dock isn’t big enough,” he explained. “Anyway, did you really think I’d invite you to go out to sea on a tiny _wreck_?” he joked amused.

At that, Fabrizio just burst out laughing, taken aback by Ermal’s teasing answer. Hearing his warm, hearty laughter, a spontaneous smile appeared on Ermal’s face and he looked at the way Fabrizio brought his hand to cover his eyes while continuing to laugh. And then, Ermal realized that Fabrizio was like the sea, he hid the best part, and smiled softly at the sudden thought.

“Maybe next time Venditti will be so kind as to lend this boat to Nico for some hours,” Fabrizio thought aloud.

“To Niccolò, your friend? Yeah, I could ask him, of course, but why?” he wondered.

“Apparently Nico fell in love with a girl. The other day he was all agitated and so happy like he had his head in the clouds,” he sighed softly, “It seems something serious and taking her out to the sea for a date may be a way to impress her, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely! Tell me, did you meet this girl?” Ermal asked curious.

Fabrizio shook his head. “I only know she sells flowers at the market. But if Nico says she’s special, then it must be so.”

After a few silent seconds, Ermal cocked his head and looked at Fabrizio quizzically. “You never told me how you met each other,” he said.

There was a brief, invisible hesitation and then Fabrizio replied, “We met in Bravos some years ago , where I used to live before coming back here. Nico lived alone with his cat and his many dreams; the moment I met him I recognized a part of myself in him and we got along immediately. H e’s been my assistant since then and we were merchants until we decided to come to Sunspear to see what the city had to offer.”

“ Oh, I see. Niccolò must be very fond of you, then. He seems like a nice guy,” Ermal said sincerely.

As they talked, the boat continued to be driven by the gentle wind, thus managing to get closer to a small bay, now fully visible on the horizon. Judging by the view, Ermal supposed they were now somewhere beyond Sunspear.

The bay curved as if drawn by an artist’s hand, the golden sands making a thick band between the waves and the little vegetation beyond.

“Shall we stop there for a while? How about that?” Fabrizio asked him.

“Yes!” he replied enthusiastically.

When they came close enough, they got off the boat and started to slowly pull the boat out of the water. Then, Ermal motioned with his hand in invitation to sit and so they _sat_ together on the sand , staring out upon the surrounding sea. The bay was brilliant in the afternoon sun and waves were gently drenching the sand.

“It’s so peaceful here,” he said with a soft sigh. He shifted his gaze to Fabrizio, who stood up all of a sudden. “Mh? What are you doing, Bizio?”

Fabrizio grinned and started to take off his shirt. “Well, since half our clothes are already soaked, we might as well have a swim, don’t you think?”

“Mh, okay,” Ermal said, a little surprised.

Fabrizio took off his shirt, throwing it carelessly on the sand and Ermal’s gaze fell inevitably on Fabrizio’s chest.

“What about those tattoos?” he asked, taken by surprise. Only now did he see that Fabrizio’s chest and the upper part of his arms were decorated with some blackish tattoos, the first ones Ermal noticed were a small sun and a skull with some roses.

Fabrizio lowered his eyes to his tattoos, realizing that it was the first time that Ermal saw them. “Oh, right, I got them during my journeys in the last years. This, for example, I got it in honor of my son,” he said pointing at _Libero,_ a small writing that Ermal hadn’t seen at first. “While this sun here refers to the Dornish emblem, a gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field.”

“And what about this one? What’s its meaning?” Ermal asked pointing at a small black question mark on his arm.

“Well, this dates back to my years of wandering before coming to Bravos, when everything was somewhat uncertain,” he explained.

With a hand, he lightly brushed against the tattoo and then looked back at Ermal.

“Come on now, let's go in the water!” he exclaimed, urging the other to haste.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” the younger man said, his voice lowering a little.

But he was somehow slow, averting his gaze and taking his time, still hesitating slightly to take off his shirt. He seemed lost in memories now, memories Fabrizio thought he rather should be called up from.

“Ermal, let’s go!” he said coming close to him, “And don’t forget that every wound only serves to remind us that we live.”

Ermal smiled at that and finally threw rapidly his clothes on the sand, not far from Fabrizio’s.

Fabrizio didn't waste another moment before taking gently Ermal by the wrist and dragging him quickly in the water.

“Hey, I’m here! I’m here!” the younger repeated with amusement.

They reached the water almost running, and then slid feet first into the cold water.

Fabrizio took some steps further and waded out until he was knee deep in the fresh water, while Ermal remained slightly behind. The silvery blue sea stretched off into a distant fog that clothed the horizon and Ermal stopped a moment to enjoy everything he had been missing so much. He watched the gentle waves swirl, mesmerized, as if the movement of the water was in perfect synchrony with his thoughts.

“But-- hey!” he exclaimed all of a sudden, as soon as he felt Fabrizio deliberately splashing water at him. His surprised expression was immediately replaced by a growing smile. “Fabrizio, come here!”

He had sand in his hands and his name between his fingers.

Fabrizio was laughing, continuing to distance himself from the younger, without ceasing to splash water in his direction.

Ermal kept on laughing as he came closer and closer, “Bizio, stop it or I’ll just--”

“You’ll just what?”

And Fabrizio had, or rather _felt_ his answer when a splash of water arrived right on his face. As a result, Ermal burst out laughing, while the other shook his wet black hair. The younger man could barely conceal his amusement, as he noticed Fabrizio coming towards him with a wide grin and sparkling eyes. Once he was close enough, Fabrizio took some water in his hand and aimed precisely at Ermal. Instead of getting caught, though, Ermal unexpectedly avoided the splash by disappearing completely under the water. No more than a moment later, Ermal quickly resurfaced from the water, with an amused smile spreading on his face.

“Nice try, Bizio, but you missed me,” he said grinning.

The sight before Fabrizio’s eyes instantly kindled pure happiness in his chest, warming him with the same intensity with which the rays of sunshine were warming his skin. Ermal was smiling broadly, his brown eyes sparkling with boyish excitement, his hair soaked with rebel curls playfully brushing his shoulders.

Fabrizio came close to him and, before he could withdraw his mind from that thought, his hand touched Ermal’s cheek, caressing it gently. Ermal felt again that peculiar surging tide of warmth that left him somehow dizzy, before seeing Fabrizio closing his eyes and drawing his lips close to his own. Fabrizio gently pressed his lips around the rim of his mouth and kissed him. His eyelashes softly brushed the other’s cheek while his hands went to rest lightly on Ermal’s waist.

And the moment Ermal placed his hands around Fabrizio’s neck, he knew that he was kissing him back. It was soft at first, and then with a slow gradation of intensity that made Ermal cling to him as the only solid thing in an illusory, deceiving life.

When Fabrizio parted from his lips, he stared intently into Ermal’s eyes for a moment and the depths of that deep hazel brown reflected all the radiance of his smile. With a sweet movement, he pushed a wet curl behind Ermal’s ear, his fingers lingering on his cheek.

Only now did they realise that the waves weren’t really as calm as before, on the contrary, the wind was rising more and more.

“Ermal, do you think we will make it back?” Fabrizio chuckled a little.

“Sure, sure,” Ermal said, laughing lightheartedly, “let’s go back to the boat.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorridi ancora amore_

_che il peggio è passato_

And there he was, Fabrizio, sitting on the roof of a noble’s house with his feet dangling carelessly, still working in spite of the radiant heat of Sunspear. He was supposed to repair the ruined roof but, considering that he was almost done, a break was more than well deserved. So, he let his eyes close in a way that appeared almost restful and relaxed a bit.

In the haze of the afternoon, heat became far less bearable and he could feel the loose shirt starting to cling to his back. Still, no more than few minutes later, he finally finished everything he had to do and the roof looked perfectly repaired. Fabrizio ran his hand trough his black hair and sighed softly; that day, the searing heat from the sun was the only constant presence as waves of heat distorted the horizon. It was indeed in moments like this that he truly missed the nice, pleasant weather of Bravoos.

He was absent-mindedly gazing at the uninteresting view from up above, when among narrow alleys and vague figures, he glimpsed a young man with a familiar mass of lovely dark curls walking slowly towards him. Fabrizio’s eyes widened slightly, surprised as he was to see Ermal right there, he couldn’t help to smile with joy though. Now more than ever he realized how glad he actually was to be back in Sunspear, to be right there, and all his previous annoyance at the heat vanished instantly.

“Hi, Fabbrì!”

Ermal was coming closer and closer with a broad smile on his face and Fabrizio could barely conceal his delight at the sound of that voice, soft and sweet as a hummed tune that only he knew.

The curly young man was just a few steps from him and, for some reason Fabrizio couldn’t fathom, he looked particularly enthusiastic, smirking and waving at him from below with a glint in his eyes.

“Are you almost done here?” he asked, clearly hiding something behind his back.

“I’m done!” Fabrizio got up slowly, standing up while answering him, “Wait, I’m coming down.”

In a minute he carefully managed to come off the roof, and once his feet touched the ground, he finally met with a pair of well-known dark eyes quietly waiting for him.

And he couldn’t resist the urge to caress Ermal’s hair, before gently lingering his fingers on the longer curls as he felt Ermal coming closer to him and relaxing at the touch.

“Hi,” he almost whispered.

Ermal’s mouth curved into a soft smile and he tilted his head just barely as Fabrizio continued to touch his long curls.

“So, look here,” he managed to say after a few seconds, “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

Fabrizio looked at him quizzical for a moment as soon as Ermal revealed the small book he had been hiding jealously behind his back.

“Yesterday I was reading this book and oh, Fabbrì, I found something truly interesting and amazing!” He exclaimed. He leafed through the worn book quickly until he found the exact page he was looking for.

“What is it exactly?” Fabrizio asked him curious.

“They call it _kite,_ ” he read aloud. “Well, it must be a sort of traditional children’s custom in House Tyrell. It is thought to be flown in the air and this book says that many children nowadays play with it,” he explained full of enthusiasm.

“Oh, let me see, let me see.”

Ermal handed him the book and Fabrizio started to read carefully through the page with the instructions on how to make a proper kite.

No sooner had he come to the last line, than Ermal began to insist somewhat impatiently. “So? Do you think we’d be able to make one?”

“Sure, sure. We only have to find all the necessary and then it seems pretty easy,” Fabrizio said, continuing to skim through the page once again.

Ermal’s eyes lit up, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Fabrizio giggled, amused by his childlike enthusiasm, “It doesn’t seem complicated, on the contrary, here it says it’s an easy craft even children alone can make.”

“Great! So, what do we need?”

Fabrizio’s fingers brushed against the black words on the page while he slowly started to list all the necessary things. “Well, we need two sticks to form the frame of the kite, a string, a pair of scissors and…fabric. We need fabric. Do you think we could take one of Venditti’s fabrics?” he asked, turning his head to look at Ermal.

Ermal thought about it for a moment. “That’s definitely not a problem! We should go and look for something in his warehouse at the docks,” he offered.

Venditti’s warehouse was rather picturesque. It was full of the strangest of objects and little treasures; as a matter of fact, everything fascinating or merely peculiar Antonello happened to find during his travels ended up in there. As a result, the most varied fabrics and textures were now surrounding Ermal and Fabrizio from every side. Ermal seemed busy, rapidly examining the fabrics carefully stacked on top of each other while Fabrizio was just taking a look around the place, holding the book open on the right page.

“What about this one?” Ermal asked, taking out a thin reddish fabric from the stack.

Fabrizio looked perplexed, “Mh, I’m not sure… the book says the weave of the fabric lets more air pass through the kite, so we should make sure that the fabric we’re going to use is thick and sturdy enough.”

“That’s not exactly helpful, Bizio,” Ermal snorted. He continued to search among the stacks of fabrics, but not before faking a grimace in the other’s direction.

“I got it!” Fabrizo exclaimed loudly all of a sudden, “The best thing to use is clearly the fabric of an old sail, it’s thick enough, what do you think?”

“You’re right!” he agreed, “Why didn’t we consider it before?”

“Well, for starters, because you were too busy focusing only on thin, useless fabrics,” Fabrizio teased him. At that, Ermal couldn’t help but laugh a little, without giving him the satisfaction to agree with him but not denying either. “Anyway, all the old and unnecessary material should be confined in that corner.”

Fabrizio got nearer to the mass of undefinable things Ermal was pointing at and observed it with an unsure look. “Are you sure is it something we can take? Doesn’t Venditti need these things?”

Ermal shook his head. “No no, this is the stuff to be thrown away. Take whatever you please.”

Fabrizio proceeded to take a piece of fabric of medium size he had noticed few seconds earlier.

Finally, they managed to get all the necessary for the kite, fabric included, at last. So they walked towards the beach, bringing everything they needed, both of them eager to make the kite right by the sea.

In the end, finding all the necessary things hadn’t turned out to be so challenging and unlikely, as they thought it would have been. What, on the contrary, they hadn’t really expected was how difficult it could be to actually _make_ a decent kite. Now they were on the beach, with everything ready and more than willing to try such a new, foreign custom. Despite their enthusiasm, though, they still hadn't even begun. To tell the truth, Fabrizio was the one trying to make the kite, while Ermal was merely reading aloud the instructions from the book.

“So, we should take one stick and put it across the other one so that we create a lowercase T-shape with them,” he explained. Fabrizio started to bring the sticks together but he was interrupted immediately by Ermal who apparently had forgotten to read a line. “Ah, it says you have to make sure the horizontal stick is somewhat shorter than the vertical stick.”

“Ok, ok, they are already fine,” Fabrizio confirmed.

Ermal continued to read and Fabrizio wrapped the string around the two sticks in the middle a couple of times, in order to hold them in place. Then, he ended with a small knot.

“What should I do next?” he asked Ermal.

“Mhh, here it says you have to make a small notchat the end of each stick.”

Fabrizio looked a bit perplexed. “And what for?”

“Well, these notches seem quite important here. I suppose they’re for the string,” he suggested.

Fabrizio used scissors to make the notches but it was undeniable he was struggling to make them as similar to each other as possible.

“Bizio?” Ermal couldn’t but chuckle when seeing how focused the other looked right now, “Can you do that?”

Fabrizio grumbled lowly, uttering something truly incomprehensible to Ermal’s ears, but after one more attempt, all the notches were done perfectly.

“Ok,” Ermal said, “so now we get to the most crucial part. The string should be wrapped all the way around the kite, making sure it goes right into the notches. It says it helps the frame to retain its shape as the kite flies in the air.”

Fabrizio made an effort but it was all in vain because the string kept getting out the notches. “Yes, well, it’s easier said than done,” he commented, vaguely frustrated.

Ermal, in turn, tried his best not to laugh, but rather deciding to be just a little bit helpful. “According to the instructions, you should make sure the string is taut but not too tight so as to prevent the sticks from bending or warping.”

Once the string was put successfully, Ermal resumed to read, noticing with enthusiasm that he had almost reached the last line. “Oh, it’s almost finished, Fabbrì! We only have to add the sailcloth.”

“If so, you don’t have to read the instructions. I think I know how to proceed from now on,” Fabrizio replied confidently.

The white sailcloth was then spread on the sand, and the frame was placed on top of it. Fabrizio folded the edges of the sailcloth over the string and fastened everything together securely.

After that, he was able to attach the flying line without great effort, this time, just by taking a long string and tying it tightly around the cross point of the sticks. He added more string to the flying line to make it longer, imagining that it might also help the kite to fly straighter. So, he let the flying line hang down freely and smiled at Ermal with satisfaction.

“You did it! It’s pretty much ready!” Ermal looked already so visibly excited for seeing this lovely discovery with his own eyes, that Fabrizio strongly hoped that it actually _worked_ as well as looking nice.

“Only one thing is missing… would you like to attach the tail?” he proposed.

A little smile grew on Ermal’s face as he nodded. “Yes, I think I can do that.”

“I brought some other fabrics from the warehouse in case we needed them, so you can even choose the colour,” Fabrizio said but already knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt which colour Ermal would choose.

And in fact, Ermal confirmed his thoughts. “Yellow,” he stated resolutely, “yellow is prettier.”

Fabrizio stared at him, loosing a rush of excitement in his chest while he watched the other starting to attach the tail to the bottom end of the frame, looping it over the frame several times before tying it tightly.

Ermal was looking at the kite, his eyes filled with wonder. “I can’t believe we managed to make one!”

“Sure enough, but let’s wait before celebrating… until we see if it works,” he shrugged, scratching his head sheepishly.

“Oh, come on! I’m sure it’ll fly perfectly,” Ermal said, trying to convince Fabrizio, who eventually broke into a smile, “Well, we just have to try.”

The part of the beach they had chosen turned out to be the perfect place to try their kite, since there was luckily no one around. In addition to that, it seemed to have good winds for kite flying.

With a smirk, Ermal turned to Fabrizio and grabbed the long yellow tail. He then held tight to the kite string and started to run in the direction of the wind. Only then did he release the kite as he was running, pushing it upward into the wind. So wonderfully _happy_ looked Ermal in that moment, that Fabrizio felt a sudden flare of joy and smiled without thinking. Only light in his dark days, that’s what he will be.

“It works, Fabbrì! It’s flying!” Ermal was exulting, almost shouting for joy while keeping to run.

“Oh, I can see that, it looks amazing!”

After no more than few minutes, Ermal quickly came back to him, “You have to try!” he said as he handed him the kite.

Fabrizio took it gladly and started to run, slowly at first than increasingly faster, using the flying line to keep the kite high in the air. He could easily hear the younger man laughing light-heartedly from behind. Rough winds blowing from the open ocean were ruffling through Fabrizio’s already unruly hair. And just like that, they continued to play with the kite, exchanging it between them every now and then.

Learning how to control the kite proved harder than Fabrizio had expected while making it earlier before. It rapidly turned on the slightest pull into an exaggerated dive, hence Fabrizio would overreact and pull wildly with the other hand. When Ermal flied it, though, he seemed so serene, the kite being a reflection of his mind in the sky. His eyes were wandering far away, even further than the kite, and a radiant look came over his face, like a sudden burst of sunshine.

While Ermal was flying the kite up into the air, Fabrizio’s eyes captured each detail of these precious moments, with happiness dancing through his thoughts. Ermal’s hair, dark and lustrous, had a sheen like fine northern hardwood. But that comparison wasn't entirely fair, he supposed. Hardwood didn't swish gently like his curls did, swaying with every word he spoke.

After awhile, the younger man came back, quickening his pace in order to be close to Fabrizio. “Now I can see why the Tirells love kites so much!” he said with enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling with joy albeit he was panting slightly.

“Yes, it was definitely worth it,” Fabrizio agreed warmly.

Seeing Ermal smiling so happily left Fabrizio with a feeling of breathlessness and lightness in his limbs. It was a bliss which suddenly overwhelmed his mind with an unexpected and exquisite thought, _smile again, amore, because the worst is over._

“Thank you, Fabbrì,” Ermal whispered quietly, gratitude flowing through him.

He had always thought that looking into people's eyes felt like stealing, but now he found himself staring right into Fabrizio’s brown eyes with no hesitation. He smiled at him, as he moved his fingers near the other’s face before resting a hand on his cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb.

Fabrizio’s head, which just seconds before had been full of delightful and overwhelming thoughts, was now buzzing with anticipation. He felt Ermal’s breath on his cheeks as he drew closer. Ermal watched his eyelids flutter and then close gradually. Slowly he leaned in, kissing him softly.

His palm still lingered tenderly on Fabrizio’s cheek who in turn placed his hand on his waist, drawing him closer as they deepened the kiss.

When they parted, Fabrizio saw his eyes sparkle and his lips curve up into a smile and he couldn't help but smile back.

It was by now getting late, therefore Ermal and Fabrizio left the beach and headed back home, obviously bringing their kite with them.

On the way back, now and again the great lines of silvery-green Dornish oleanders rose and made long avenues or lovely greenish airy corners across the minor streets of Sunspear. They stood quite high, their top boughs being spangled with thick and leathery leaf. In this light which painted Ermal’s skin so warmly, the trees were dancing to his eyes and he found himself wondering how many hues of colours his eyes were witnessing simultaneously. It weren’t the greener shades which were enjoying Ermal’s full attention and wonder, though, it was _pink_. Pink like a paintbrush, because so were the flowers growing in clusters at the end of each branch. A myriad of showy - and perhaps even sweetly scented oleander flowers were standing out right before Ermal’s eyes.

His hand suddenly reached out towards a branch and he picked a single flower from the closest oleander. He held the pretty flower on the palm of his hand, touching it lightly with his fingertips while gazing at the beauty in the fragility of those few petals, a flower of heaven with earthy roots.

“Do you like that?” Fabrizio asked him, noticing he had stopped walking and was actually admiring the flower with a joyous look.

“Oh, yes, I surely do,” Ermal said with a smirk, and so unexpectedly he reached out and tried to put the flower in Fabrizio’s hair, in a playful way.

However, Fabrizio pulled away just in time and laughed with amusement, somewhat caught off guard by the younger’s behaviour. “What are you doing?” he chuckled, running his hand in his hair, but predictably ending up with even wilder locks.

Ermal just shrugged and gave him a half smile. “Mh, you’re right. It suits _me_ better.”

No sooner had Fabrizio raised his gaze to look at him, than Ermal simply laid the flower in his own hair, placing it intertwined with his curls.

And Fabrizio would have lied if he had said that Ermal wasn’t wearing that lovely flower like it was the most natural thing to do.

With no more than such a simple gesture, Ermal had managed to cast his playfulness and his radiance all over Fabrizio. Immediately, his hand went to caress his curls gently, careful not to move the flower. His lips curved in a warm smile as he kept on looking at how pretty the flower looked there, seeming to belong right there, like it was blatantly meant to rest among Ermal’s curls.

Niccolò snorted noisily. He kept on stamping his feet repeatedly on the ground, blowing on his fists, and then pushed on slowly through the almost desolate alleys of Sunspear, more to keep moving than with any definite idea in mind. It took him some minutes to realize that the best thing he could do would actually be going to the person who always made him feel somehow better, and that’s why he walked towards the dock. Finally, he managed to glimpse Fabrizio talking easily with someone at the dock. It was only when he got really close to him, that Niccolò found out that the person Fabrizio was talking to was actually Ermal. They seemed quite into the conversation, and Niccolò was admittedly a bit unsure whether to intrude or not.

He considered the idea of coming back later, but then he just shrugged.

“Fabbrì!” he called, finally.

Fabrizio turned instantly, a surprised expression growing on his face. “Nico?”

The young man arrived right in front of him. “Yeah, how are you doing Fabbrì?”

But in that moment he noticed that Fabrizio wasn’t the only one looking at him right now because Ermal, none other than their ex mission, was standing right behind Fabrizio.

“Oh, hello Ermal,” he managed to say, more than a little unsure about how to behave around him. Truth be told, he was well aware that there wasn’t a mission anymore, but he wasn’t really sure about how much the curly man knew already.

Ermal greeted him back, but before he could add anything, Fabrizio spoke again. “So, shouldn’t you be at the market right now?”

Niccolò averted his gaze and scratched his head in the typical way he did whenever he had to confess something. “Yes, well, about that…” he sighed slowly, “let’s say I’m no longer expected to be there,” he tried to put it simply.

Fabrizio’s brows rose automatically as he processed what he had just heard. “Are you saying you got fired?”

“Well, technically, yes,” he said sheepishly.

Fabrizio passed a hand over his face and let out a heavy sigh. “I told you yelling at customers wasn’t a good idea to sell fruit.”

Right next to him, Ermal was trying so hard not to chuckle.

“I know, I know, and you were absolutely right, but some people really got on my nerves, Fabrì! I just couldn’t help it! Besides, it was a pretty boring job, to tell you the truth,” Niccolò muttered.

At that, Fabrizio couldn’t hold back an amused smile. “Alright, alright, but what are you going to do from now on?”

Niccolò thought about it for a little while, before shrugging carelessly. “I don’t know yet. I’m sure I’ll find something sooner or later, no need to worry,” he said.

Honestly, he wasn’t preoccupied with his future, he just wasn’t the type. He faced one day at a time without too many regrets, spending a lifetime escaping from reality. He was born with the desire to overdo and the need to fly but if life rebelled, he rebelled with it.

“Well, I suppose I should help you find a new job,” Fabrizio reasoned, giving voice to his thoughts.

“Mh, I think I know what he could do,” it was Ermal who suddenly spoke.

“Do you?” Fabrizio asked him, surprised.

Ermal ignored him for the time being and spoke directly to Niccolò, instead, “Maybe you could work for Antonello… I mean, Captain Venditti. He told me he needed someone new in the crew, if I’m not wrong.”

Both Fabrizio and Niccolò looked at him rather astonished.

“What…?” Ermal blinked, having imagined a whole other reaction, honestly. “Don’t you like the idea?”

Niccolò was quick to shake his head. “Oh no, quite the opposite, it seems perfect,” he said chuckling.

“Great, so we should go ask Antonello, first. I’ll introduce him to you, I think you two will get along pretty well.”

Niccolò gave a nod, while Fabrizio turned to Ermal and smiled softly at him in silent gratitude.

Captain Venditti certainly wasn’t hard to find. In fact, he was standing just next to the _Under the sign of Pisces_ as usual, giving orders – or rather, scolding his own men for not doing their job right and quickly enough.

But he stopped, giving his crew a break, as soon as he noticed the three men coming towards him.

“Hi, Antonello! I was wondering if you still needed someone else to hire in your crew,” Ermal came straight to the point, motioning to Niccolò, and thus making the younger man understand to come a step closer.

“Maybe,” Antonello said, before eyeing Nico. “What did you do before?”

“I worked at the market square selling fruits and some other stuff,” he replied.

“And why don’t you work there anymore?” he asked, rising a single eyebrow.

This time, the young man glanced at Fabrizio for a mere moment before answering. “Well, apparently, I used to yell at pompous people instead of asking them _gently_ to come and buy at the stall,” he stated.

All at once, Venditti burst out laughing loudly. “Oh, you seem like a smart lad! What’s your name?”

“I’m Niccolò,” he said, genuinely amused by the reaction his answers had just caused. Maybe he was starting to like this man.

“Fine, fine. You convinced me, Niccolò. You can start today, you're hired.”

The young man showed him a bright smile and finally took a long breath, relieved and grateful he had managed to get a new job that quickly. Besides, he had the impression he would actually enjoy this new job, surely more than the last one at the market.

Antonello put a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “I'm sure that you'll fit right in with us, lad. Now let’s go, I’ll show you around,” he said, patting him on the back. And just like that, he guided Niccolò towards the ship to start working and meet the rest of the crew, but not before greeting Ermal and Fabrizio with a wave of his hand.

Some days later, it was still early in the afternoon when the clouds encumbered all over the Dornish capital, when rain easily reached houses and trees and the roads became deserted, with only few scattered people walking here and there.

Rain was idly falling down the window with more raindrops than eyes could even attempt to grasp. Yet, together they conveyed such a soothing sound, a natural melody every bit as beautiful as a soulful, calm hum.

They had had so much dry heat lately that Ermal had almost forgotten this feeling, the cool freshness in the breeze outside and the gentle tapping of raindrops against his bedroom window.

Just before it had started raining, Fabrizio and Ermal had planned to take a walk outside and then maybe just lay on the seashore or even taking Venditti’s little boat for awhile. Soon after, though, some clouds of steel had made the sky disappear, thus making it impossible for them to fulfil their plans. As a result, they decided they’d spend the whole afternoon at Antonello’s house, since the captain was currently busy in his warehouse. They were lazily relaxing on the couch, exchanging some sporadic words every now and then, simply enjoying that rare peacefulness. The sound of rain was overwhelming in the silence.

Ermal found himself thinking that if this was the way rainy days were here in Dorne, he could get used to it real fast.

All of a sudden, Fabrizio turned his head slightly, looking at the younger man close to him.

“Ermal, would you like to read something for me?” he asked him gently.

A veil of brightness lit up his eyes all of a sudden, “Of course, I’d love to, Fabbrì.” he nodded happily, “Just wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Fabrizio watched him getting off the couch and disappearing in the other room. He heard the sound of a drawing being opened and then Ermal came back with a triumphant smile on his lips and a book in his hand.

No matter how hard he tried, Fabrizio simply couldn’t really distinguish the book title hiding beneath Ermal’s fingers. “Which one did you choose?” he asked curious.

“Oh, I think you know this one,” he said coming closer and showing the cover. Now that book _did_ look somehow familiar to Fabrizio’s eyes, and an immediate smile appeared on his face as he recognized the title. “ _Customs and Traditions of the_ _K_ _ingdom of Dorne,_ ” he read, staring at the book. “So, may I presume you did like it?”

Ermal giggled, “That's an understatement, Bizio. Whenever I start reading it, I can’t put it down.”

So vivid in Fabrizio’s mind was the lovely memory of the moment he had given him this book, that he couldn’t conceal a soft smile. Ermal’s reaction had been priceless, his brown eyes shining and widening in amazement, definitely not expecting to receive such a precious gift.

“But, thankfully, I still have a few chapters to read,” he continued. “Would you like me to read them now?”

In response, Fabrizio repeatedly touched the empty place next to him, on the couch, “Yes, but come back here, please,” he told him, searching him with his smile.

The younger man finally sat comfortably on the couch right next to Fabrizio, leaning back with his legs crossed and holding idly the book with his hand. He opened the book, leafing through the various pages until he quickly found the page he was looking for. He was just about to start when he stopped abruptly, turning his attention to Fabrizio, as if suddenly remembering something quite relevant. “But won’t you get bored?” he asked abruptly.

Fabrizio stared at him in silence for a moment, failing to understand what the other meant. “Mh? Why should I?”

“I mean, it’s a book about Dornish traditions, you’ll surely know them already, no?” Ermal said reluctantly.

Fabrizio blinked and burst out laughing light-heartedly once realizing exactly what Ermal was worrying about. “No, no. I can’t know every legend, there must be something I don’t know. And even if there isn’t, I won’t get bored. You can be sure of that.” He reached out and slowly put a rebellious curl behind Ermal’s ear.

And so, Ermal began to read the first line of a legend telling the story of the first Martells and the foundation of the very first Dornish towns. He read slowly, savouring each word, his voice soft and controlled, so pleasant to listen to. When Ermal had read no more than few lines, Fabrizio laid down, quietly resting his head on Ermal’s leg. He let out a long sigh, completely relaxed and then allowed his eyes to close little by little, basking in the sweetness of the tone of Ermal’s voice.

The words escaping his lips sounded so strangely melodic, that Fabrizio was utterly rapt, listening to him lovingly, with his eyes half closed .

In the meantime, Ermal continued with the legend, his glance straying from time to time to take a look at Fabrizio resting peacefully, leaning on his leg.

“Ermal,” he mumbled almost indistinctly, keeping his eyes closed, “you have such a beautiful voice.”

Ermal’s mouth curved into a small, shy smile and he might just have skipped a word or two, becoming somewhat unobservant of the page before his eyes.

Now that Fabrizio was so at ease, leisurely resting with his eyes half closed, Ermal had finally the chance to observe him in secret for a while. He smiled with adoration, surely he wasn’t going to waste such precious moments. So he looked closely at his face, noticing his handsome, perfect features, catching sight of the way his long dark eyelashes shadowed his tanned skin and eventually lingering on the tiny adorable freckles adorning his face like small ink letters on a blank page.

He went on reading aloud to Fabrizio while gently caressing his hair every so often, endlessly harmonized by the pleasant sound of the rain delicately falling outside their windows. It was the perfect description of time, all the space in a single fragment.

As an overall feeling of warmth and calmness flooded through him, he figured that he would have loved to spend more days like this one, just resting with Fabrizio.

Ermal suddenly became aware of how much things had changed. Life did truly change, and rightly so, but Fabrizio was there with him, to save him from himself and it seemed to Ermal that life was beautiful when he was holding him like that.

Fabrizio was breathing calmly, just letting himself be cradled by Ermal’s soothing, calm voice and by his fingers gently running through his hair, playing with his messy locks.

“ _The Martell words are "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken" - referring to their history, in which they have never been successfully conquered by outsiders. This makes them unique among all of the Great Houses. House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear_ _was founded by Morgan Martell, an Andal adventurer,”_ Ermal continued to read. _“Later on, c_ _ombining their strength,_ _Mors Martell and Nymeria_ _managed to unite all of Dorne under their rule._ _And House Martell has ruled ever since._ ” At this point he stopped reading, so unexpectedly. “House Martell has ruled ever since,” he repeated. “They have been ruling _for centuries_ … wow,” he considered, somewhat perplexed by what he had just read.

“Yeah, almost a thousand years,” Fabrizio drawled.

“I mean, they’ve been ruling much longer than House Greyjoy. And given their motto, they’ve never been completely conquered or at least overthrown. Maybe their manners aren’t too different from the despicable ways of the Ironborn… It wouldn't surprise me if they too hired one of those _Faceless Men_ to eliminate enemies standing in their way… they’ve always terrified me. I grew up in the shadow of a mask, after all,” he stated bitterly.

At once, Fabrizio tensed perceptibly under his touch. His eyes snapped wide open and he felt a hard, quick pulse in his throat.

Ermal felt him stiffen. “Mh? What’s wrong, Bizio?”

Fabrizio licked his dry lips and gulped. For a moment he thought he was unable to speak through the lump in their throat, but then he managed to answer somehow. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

But his lips twitched and his smile was forced as he attempted to hide his concern. His stomach knotted inevitably, his chest growing so tight it was becoming hard to breathe.

His mind was spirally out of control, firmly stuck on thoughts about everything he was keeping secret from Ermal, all the lies he had told him and all the truths he hadn’t told him yet.

It was by now a fact he was falling in love with Ermal, more and more every day.

Up to now, he had always so deeply enjoyed each precious moment spent with the younger man, holding onto the fleeting illusion of loving security and joy, that feeling of unadulterated joy which emanated from Ermal’s light. He knew full well it could not go on like this anymore, though. He truly wanted to take this seriously with Ermal, but undoubtedly not before the younger knew everything. Needless to say, he needed to tell him all the truth, first. His heart began to race faster and his nerves tensed as he figured he absolutely had to find the right time to talk to Ermal as soon as possible. Ermal _deserved_ it.

After that brief pause, Ermal resumed his book, he turned the page and continued to read aloud to Fabrizio exactly like before. However, it would be a lie to say that he had failed to notice how tense the other had become so suddenly. It was pretty clear that Fabrizio seemed now somewhat pensive, for some reason Ermal couldn’t really grasp.

Another page was then turned and the atmosphere between them surely hadn’t faltered, yet Ermal could see in Fabrizio’s eyes that his mind had now built some new walls with Fabrizio so lonely on the other side. He wondered to himself if he could perhaps have a little place in his loneliness.

Ermal was walking quietly down the main street with a small smile on his face. He knew that Fabrizio had to repair a ruined, old building in the centre, therefore he headed towards the main square. Given the more than pleasant weather, he was going to ask Fabrizio to take the boat and go somewhere together, wandering for awhile in the sea. Passing by the dock, he could easily distinguish Antonello’s loud voice soon followed by Niccolò’s; the young man had been working there for weeks, by now. In just a few days, Niccolò had fit in extraordinarily well, just like Venditti had said he would. And what was even more surprising was seeing how much Nico and the old captain got along and worked well together. As a matter of fact, after a couple of weeks the young man had become the second in charge as well as Antonello’s favourite.

With haste, he crossed the square and as soon as he turned the corner of a narrow alley, his eyes glimpsed Fabrizio standing just a few steps from him, with his back turned to him. He was talking with another man, someone that Ermal was sure he had never seen before. Although he couldn’t hear clearly what they were saying, it was obvious that Fabrizio was into the conversation, that’s why Ermal decided to just lay there, leaned on the wall, without interrupting them but waiting until they had finished. Just when the two were about to part ways, the stranger pulled a small coin out of his pocket and gave it to Fabrizio. Only then was Ermal able to discern the exact words they were exchanging.

“ _Valar_ _m_ _orghulis,”_ whispered the stranger.

And Fabrizio’s reply wasn’t long in coming, “ _V_ _alar dohaeris_ _.”_

As Fabrizio turned to leave, he was immediately faced with a pair of shocked, wide eyes. Realization hit him harshly and he paled instantly, cold chills running down his spine.

Ermal was looking at him with numbed horror.

His face was growing ashen and alarm etched its way into every crease as his body grew more and more tense to the point of shaking.

“Ermal… I--” Fabrizio tried to hold out his hand towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” his voice sounded cracked and he flinched violently, drawing back.

He began to back away slowly, continuing to clench and open his trembling fist repeatedly. He finally turned away from Fabrizio when a savage, searing chill of terror caused him to begin to walk more quickly. And then he ran, but his legs seemed foreign and unwilling to work properly. He managed to quicken his pace, until he was running away as fast as he could.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to "Lettera a mio padre" many times to get into the right mood... and here's the result 🙈

_Sono fabbricanti di maschere,_

_ti sputano nel mondo_

_solo per avere un pasto facile_

He could feel it starting at the tips of his fingers, that numbing sensation that would soon spread across his skin like wildfire, goosebumps crawling across his pale skin. Every breath he managed to take began to shallow into sharp and desperate gasps for air as his lungs threatened to collapse and his mind raced increasingly. His heart seemed to stumble cruelly over its own rhythm.

He had run, run as fast as he could until, once arrived at the dock, he had taken Antonello’s smallest boat, thus managing to disappear alone in the sea, as far from the mainland as possible. The sound of the groaning sea now echoed in the corners of his mind, pulling tides of clarity; his eyes widening in fear yet glimpsing nothing but complete darkness.

A tight knot constricted his throat, making it too hard to breathe - it was there, it would always be, right there to haunt him, since even a drop of darkness could poison an entire sun of happiness.

Familiar dread dragged the depths of his innermost self. Until it found it. That lacerating and laughing soul of his which took everything without asking but never asking about him.

His knees trembled and quaked uncontrollably, threatening to give out in any moment. He was standing rigid with terror, too overwhelmed to move, his hands flailing in the air, his fingers seeking out anything they could hold onto until he managed to hold on to the side of the boat. Several times did he attempt to control his breathing, and then he kept his watery eyes shut, tightly closed as he endeavoured to steady his heart.

***

  
  


At dinner there was always tension. They were eating nearly in utter silence, needless to say the Lord of the Ironborn was sitting at the head of the table, with the two heirs at his side, facing each other. Without superfluous ornaments and myriads of people characteristic of its impressive banquets, the usually remarkable Great Hall of Pyke Castle appeared huge and unbelievably spare.

“I’m going to send some ships to pillage a small village in the Riverlands, not too far from here.” The Lord’s voice suddenly broke the brittle silence.

At that, Rinald finally raised his gaze from his plate and watched the Lord, his eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, really? And when are you leaving?” he cocked his head, genuinely curious.

His father tilted his head back as his eyes fell on the little boy. “We should leave within a few days, weather permitting.”

“Oh, I see,” the boy said, but in a lower tone this time. Then he stopped, seeming to think on something clouding his mind. His eyes lowered down and he looked unexpectedly deep in thought, nearly saddened somehow.

“What is it, Rinald?”

At first, he was slightly unsure whether to ask it or not, but then he decided to try. “I was wondering… when can I come with you, father?” he ended up demanding with a shy look and a sense of urgency.

As soon as he heard those words, the Lord’s dark eyes gleamed as if he had seen it coming, and he wore a gloating smile. He gave an approving nod and quickly spread his arms wide. “I see no reason why you couldn’t come with me even in a few months.”

Rinald’s eyes widened with surprise and happiness , for he surely didn’t except to receive that answer, so straightforwardly.

“Really?” he exclaimed in disbelief with a wide grin.

“ _No._ You can’t.” Ermal, who had been quiet up to this moment, suddenly snapped, frowning. His words coming out sharp and bitter. His harsh reaction engendered a blank look in his younger brother, who turned his head, his glance darting around until he looked at his father with a quizzical expression on his face, as if looking for answers.

The Lord gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “You’re a Greyjoy, Rinald, a prince of the Ironborn. Not only _can_ you go by sea, but you’re actually supposed to. Remember, _we don’t sow,_ ” he said, causing Rinald to smile broadly, eager as he was to embark on his very first journey by sea, like basically every young boy in the Iron Islands. However, while being clearly enthusiastic, the little boy had by no means forgotten his brother’s abrupt, startling reaction and therefore he wanted to understand what the other had meant.

“Ermal? Why don’t you want me to go?” he asked, honestly confused.

With the corner of his eye, the Lord caught a glimpse of Ermal as he drew his lower lip between his teeth, his brows knitted. He then turned towards his first son and gave him a lopsided grin before speaking directly to him, “Yeah, why shouldn’t he go, Ermal?” the man asked, deliberately faking an anxious tone.

Ermal narrowed his eyes, ignoring him completely, and chose to speak to Rinald, instead. “I think you should wait at least a couple of years, Rinald,” he said gently.

“I’m sure your brother is just being over protective,” his father scoffed, “After all, let’s not forget your brother too has gone out to sea when he was about your age.”

“Oh, right! It’s true! You did mention you’ve been there, too,” the boy asserted eagerly with rapt interest as if remembering it all of a sudden.

“Yes, I’ve been out to sea for awhile,” Ermal affirmed, sighing lowly. ”But it was only a period of training and I was a bit older than you, Rinald,” he said in a calm voice and smiling softly at his brother.

“Oh, he was, Rinald. That is true.” His father simpered. “But I don’t think you know that he did enjoy the training, eventually. So much that he had rather stayed there a little longer instead of coming back here straight away. Isn’t it so, Ermal?” The smile that slithered into place over the man's lips was sickly sweet.

Staying quiet, Rinald kept on watching the two of them in total oblivion.

The man’s eyes had moved from the younger to the eldest son and Ermal tensed visibly, moistoning his dry lips nervously. He chose to ignore the other’s last remark, though. The line of his mouth tightened a fraction more as he turned a cold eye on his father, his eyes sharpening.

“He’s still too young, stop pretending you don’t know it,” he spat between clenched teeth.

Rinald’s eyes widened a little, “Ermal, don’t disrespect our father like that!” he blurted out, taken aback by Ermal’s bitter tone. The boy had come to the conclusion that his older brother’s objection and reluctance certainly wouldn’t work in his favor since he wanted to be allowed to go out to sea, and therefore taking his father’s side turned out to be the most convenient thing to do this time.

An awkward silence followed Rinald’s statement. The Lord of the Iron Islands felt his thin lips quiver into a triumphant sneer, while a momentary look of stinging betrayal crossed Ermal’s face.

The older man then gave a half-shrug, leaning back in his chair with his shoulders back.

“Now it’s time for you to go, Rinald.” He pulled in a deep breath. “We’ll discuss this matter later on,” he stated, not an emotion visible in his eyes or audible in his voice.

The little boy gave a quick nod, got up from the table, and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

  
  


Now that they were left alone, in spite of the approaching night the castle was as awake as ever, the shadows and the hallways, they echoed and howled, all underscored by the hint of violence lurking just below the surface. In the dim light of the dining room, the Lord’s face was grim like a carved mask.

Once again, there was a heavy silence for several long moments before Ermal spoke again, without wasting a minute more. “I truly hope you were joking about Rinald,” he hissed under his breath.

The Lord snickered, giving him a snide look. “And why should I?” His voice returned to his icy tone. He was a master of disguise, showing up when no one was around. Bright to black with no hesitation.

The younger’s fingers twitched nervously, but he did not respond to the provocation. “He’s only twelve years old, he really should wait a t least a couple of years,” he persisted .

Admittedly, from Rinald’s perspective, his eagerness and longing to pursue that period out to sea was rather understandable. In the Iron Islands it was actually customary for boys to spend some time in the sea in order to learn the Iron ways, once they were old enough. In the eyes of a child, with the idea of stirring adventures and discoveries, it was natural it looked appealing. Nevertheless, Ermal knew it wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be. Brutality permeated many facets of the Ironborn’s cultural basis, with special regard to their naval culture. Ermal was well aware of their barbaric customs, and sure enough, pillaging a village wasn’t an adventure, and even less something for a twelve-year-old boy. Wherever possible, Ermal was determinate to keep his brother as far away as he could from that savage world.

“Coming to raid a village with me will do him nothing but good. In this way he’ll learn to stay on a ship, as well as some of the Ironborn’s basic ways, as one would expect from a prince,” the Lord said, his voice thick with insinuation.

Ermal’s eyes narrowed once again as he watched his father’s expressionless face relax, somehow, in a knowing smile which had very little warmth.

“Remember, son…” started the other man, speaking softly, with a particular emphasis on the last word, “It's _me_ who decide _s_ what's best for your brother.”

The threatening and smug tone was a strong contrast to the sickeningly sweet and twisted one he'd been using earlier before.

Ermal glared at him. However, before he could add something, he was abruptly preceded by someone knocking on the door.

The older man simply turned his head towards the door, his stance relaxed. “Come in.”

In the blink of an eye, one of the Greyjoy’s servants appeared on the door, entering the room carrying a pitcher of red wine.

“Good evening, my Lord.” The man came closer to the table. “Prince Ermal,” his head lowering down in respect.

“I brought your wine,” he said in a servile way. Without further delay, he began to carefully fill their two goblets with wine, always remaining in humble silent.

His father relaxed languidly in his chair, calmly waiting for the servant to finish. The sum of composure and carelessness concentrated in his imperturbable face served to make all that familiar and tranquil atmosphere deceptive.

Ermal stiffened invisibly, turning slightly pale, as he was far too conscious that whenever they were in the presence of someone else, everything deformed in a worthless show, a pointless game. He watched the man sitting next to him and grimaced. His apparent calmness was all an act.

Beasts like him were all around and it wasn’t easy to find them out because they were mask-makers.  
The Lord of the Iron Islands was wholly preoccupied with his own importance and kingship, and in staying loyal to this he had an insatiable starving hunger to be obeyed and respected. Underlying all the layers of pretences needed to uphold this position, though, was a falseness of profound significance he absolutely had to maintain so as not to taint his reputance.

It was indeed a well-known fact that blood ties were an unyielding, fundamental aspect lying at the very core of the Ironborn’s values; as a matter of fact, family – and progeny in particular was regarded as sacred by the Ironborn. Originally, families had become united by blood ties in clans, aggregations of kinsmen; and these subsequently had evolved into tribes, territorial communities. Therefore, such principle was enshrined in their culture and traditions.

That is why Ermal had to put on this farce and just _pretend_. And pretending was what he was doing even now, keeping his features deceptively composed and waiting to drink his wine, yet the tensing of his jaw betrayed his disguised nervousness.

As the servant finished to fill his goblet, the older man observed Ermal vaguely, noticing his lips thin into a single line as he tipped his head forward, his curly hair almost shielding his face.

Both goblets were then filled to the brim.

“It’s alright, Randall. You’re free to go,” the Lord dismissed him.

The servant bowed respectfully and took his leave, leaving the pitcher on the table and taking away the leftover food.

Even after the servant had left the room, the king continued to savour his wine slowly, drinking in silence. His contrived farce just kept dripping out of his golden cup and he returned to wear himself.

It all happened in a mere rapid moment then, the man got up from the table all of a sudden, the abrupt motion making the chair creak noisily, and Ermal flinched violently, drawing back instinctively with a silent wince.

His breath grew thin and ragged and he swallowed dryly as his eyes followed his father’s figure finally leaving the room.

  
  


***

  
  


It was a particularly hazy late morning in Pyke when Captain Venditti was standing still outside his beloved ship. They were just arrived at the dock after long weeks spent by the sea. As always, his crew went ashore last, since they had the task to take all the cargo out of the ship and then arrange it near the abode of the watchman of the dock of Pyke Isle. Venditti sighed with impatience, now realising that it would probably take them the whole morning to unload all the goods in the ship, especially the carpets and luxuries. So, he let his men take care of the ship and the cargo and turned away, heading towards the castle in order to talk to King Greyjoy.

Barely had he walked a few minutes towards the castle, when he caught sight of a small figure sitting alone on a bench overlooking the sea. He came finally close enough to see and it was to his great surprise that he realized the figure in front of him was none other than Ermal Greyjoy, the king’s first heir. The little boy was sitting on the edge of the bench, clad in blue breeches and a tunic of the same colour trimmed with gold buttons, his feet barely brushing the ground and his shoulders visibly heaving with emotion.

He was crying silently, his tears hidden behind his unkempt curls and his clenched hands, as he rubbed his eyes. Antonello stopped once he realized the young prince was crying, his thin frame shaking a little. An undefined sadness seemed to have fallen about the little boy like the clouds overwhelming the sea of Pyke. He stood there for a moment before taking a deep breath and then sat on the bench next to him, remaining on the opposite edge of the little boy, though. The first thing Venditti noticed was the slight way the boy’s eyes became somehow aware of his presence next to him and how he curled up slightly. At a closer sight, though, there was something else he clearly didn’t fail to notice, because as the boy kept on rubbing his eyes, his long white sleeves were pulled up enough to reveal the bruises on his right wrist.

Antonello looked at him in stunned silence and frowned, his face growing serious. His posture stiffened as realization sank in. Something told him that it hadn’t certainly happened simply by accident but rather at the hands of the king himself, who was renowned for his aggressiveness and harshness.

To tell the truth, Venditti had always had a hunch that the King of the Ironborn wasn’t actually so worthy of respect, at all. All things considered, he had never liked the king, let alone trusted him, and at this point it was clear that he wouldn’t start now.

The boy was still crying, leaning over with his elbows resting on his legs. Taking a brief look at him for a moment, Antonello could glimpse his light lashes heavy with tears. Not really knowing what to say, he just stayed there next to him for a little while, saying nothing. At a certain point, it occurred to him that there was something he could actually do in order to make the little boy feel a little bit better. He stood up slowly and looked at him. He hesitated and briefly appeared at a loss for words, but then, “Just wait here until I come back,” he told him suddenly.

The boy lifted his eyes just a bit above his hands to watch the captain, though Venditti had to acknowledge he wasn’t paying him much attention.

So, the man turned away from the bench, leaving the little boy behind him and walked until he arrived where the _Under the sign of Pisces_ was docked.

Surprised to find their captain still there and not at the castle, his crewmen turned their confused gazes towards him, which Venditti ignored altogether as he got on the ship, without wasting time. As soon as he stepped below deck, he immediately started to take a look around his private cabin. He gathered his thoughts while trying to come up with an idea, looking for something which a twelve-year old boy might actually like. But the moment his gaze casually fell on an object in particular, he was quite convinced it would be a good choice. And so, he hid it in his pocket and quickly got out the ship, going back to the prince, but at the same time hoping that he had actually waited for him.

Admittedly, Venditti was more than a little surprised in finding that the boy was still right there, sitting on the bench. He hadn’t stopped crying though, his body trembling faintly, but still he did not make a sound. Once again Venditti stepped closer, but this time, instead of sitting down next to him, he simply crouched down just in front of the little boy, so that he was at his eye level. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what he had just taken from his cabin.

Finally , the little boy looked up from his hands to reveal his moist eyes which, however, widened in surprise the moment he saw the book Venditti was holding out to him. Antonello waited for him to take it, but soon figured the boy wasn’t going to do it, looking somewhat perplexed .

“It’s for you,” he said gently.

The little prince stared at him with wide eyes and a tear like silver still glistened in the corner of his eye. He hesitated a moment before taking the book in his hands and then opening it. A sigh of amazement left his lips as all the world laid stretched before him like the open palm of his hand. It was indeed an old nautical atlas with plenty of vivid illustrations of numerous maps and drawings on its pages. The little boy admired the pages in a state of wonder for a little longer, clasping it closer to his chest before looking back at Venditti, still in front of him.

“Thank you,” he uttered sincerely, although a bit shyly. He closed the book and carefully proceeded to put it inside his leather belt pouch. Seeing how his brown eyes were now gleaming in awe, Antonello found it hard to conceal a small smile a nd, needless to say, the boy’s sincere astonishment led him to believe that he had made the right choice.

  
  


***

  
  


Ermal came out on deck, the first thing his eyes noticed was the Captain Cailin’s leathery, salt-worn face as rough as the cold wind blowing against the square sails of their ship. The man was scolding one of the crew, probably vexed by some ordinary trifles, and Ermal ignored them. On the ship he was entrusted with the task of reading the maps and thus tracing the road to follow. Nevertheless, in order to fulfill his training period, he was also supposed to learn how to command a pirate ship, and consequently he always payed attention to the captain’s moves and decisions.

Ermal moved away from the other men and then leaned against the side of the ship, carelessly observing the sea. His gaze and thoughts wandered together with the wooden ship that swayed and float, dipping low in the murk and mire. Truth be told, Ermal would acknowledge that when he used to glimpse those ships from his window, he once thought the humble build and style were somewhat unfit to sail the sea, but after their plight withstood in the last weeks, it was a repute he wouldn’t revile again. Now he knew for certain that their ship would live through storms of cold, hurricanes of treachery, and maelstroms of burning ash.

The sun overhead was shining in a clouded sky where a cloud in the west crept upward like a blanket. The air was gradually losing its typically salty smell, a subtle further reminder, Ermal reasoned, that they were getting closer and closer to Pyke Isle. He took a deep, long breath, taking in the by now recognizable smell of the sun-warmed planks. His fingers grabbed the bulwark, firmly holding on to the vague illusion of remaining on board of that ship for a little more, just a little bit longer. He dreamed of a world that would do for him too and some space for his fragile love.

Life on that ship was by no means as bad as he had thought it would be; as a matter of fact, Ermal had learnt to live on that ship in what felt like a relatively short period of time. In the last months, he fell in love with the sea. Although he had always lived near the sea, only now could he finally _breath_ it, and that endless expanse of water had the skill to lower his guard, awakening a sense of soothing tranquillity. Needless to say, the period of training by the sea allowed the young prince to see some other places beyond the usual Iron Islands, places he had merely read about before.

And now that he was coming back in the Iron Islands, he couldn’t help but reflect on how much things had changed since his departure. At first, he was very reluctant to leave the castle in order to spend months by the sea, averse as he always had been to the brutal habits and ways of pirates. What actually suited him was anything related to books, rather than commanding a ship, he wanted to work together with the Maester of the Iron Islands. Service as a Maester was actually a noble calling, one of vital importance to a prosperous realm, and it was undeniable that Ermal could easily see himself dealing with culture and books instead of pursuing a life in a ship with the other Ironmen. Rinald was a further reason why he had continued to adamantly resist the idea of leaving the Castle. The second prince Greyjoy was but a young child and Ermal would have loved to spend every day with him to watch him grow and learn his very first things, and especially to _be_ there for him in any moment. His lips curved into a small smile as he thought about Rinald, every drop of memory trickled on him, washing away his smiles, sorrows disguised as experience.

Pyke Castle was now discernable on the horizon, and Ermal observed it getting closer and closer with a brooding expression. A breath of melancholy made itself feel like a chill and sudden gust from some unknown sea. He couldn’t help but wonder how much his little brother had grown in those five months in his absence. Sure enough, Rinald would made Ermal’s return home a little less bitter and unpleasant, yet Ermal would have been more than willing to stay there for one more month.

At this point, Pyke Isle devoured all his sight, its smoky grey rocks a stark contrast with the deep blue of the sea. Drear, dark, forbidding, Pyke stood atop those islands and pillars, almost a part of them, its curtain wall closing off the headland around the foot of the great stone bridge. Towers and outbuildings clung to the stacks beyond, linked to each other by covered archways when the pillars stood close, by long swaying walks of wood and rope when they did not. Farther out laid Ermal’s private chambers, _the Bloody Keep_. A hundred years before, it was exactly there that the Greyjoys had slaughtered the young sons of the previous ruling family, and their bodies had returned to their father on the mainland. Now it was valued as one of the most precious places of the Castle and was supposed to be held exclusively for a relevant use, so as to convey the false appearance of grieve and respect for those dead children, albeit killed at the Greyjoys’ hands. The king of the Iron Islands had wittingly designated the Bloody Keep for the private chambers of his first heir, showing just how important he was both to him and the kingdom. But even though the Ironborn were misled by the way things looked on the surface, Ermal alone was well aware that he had been given that special part of the castle as a more than a little mocking and implied reminder not to make missteps. Beasts like the king spat you into the world just to have an easy meal.

As they were about to get off the ship, the black sails with the sigil of the golden kraken of the King’s ship were visible at the berth; Lord Reaper was probably coming back from a raid in a nearby village. “ _What is dead may never die_ ,” whispered Captain Cailin pointing his gaze towards the King’s ship.

Soon after, Ermal was walking towards the castle with slow steps, glancing around, not focusing on anything. His eyes fell on Rinald’s window, where his little brother was more likely to be in that moment, and he hunted down a smile.

  
  


***

Ermal burst into the room to find his father sitting at his desk.

“What’s happening?” he blurted out suddenly.

The Lord of the Iron Islands raised his gaze a little amused, moving his eyes from his letters to the prince standing right in front of him. He certainly wasn’t used to seeing him enter his private cabinet in that impetuous way.

“Maybe you should tell me what you’re referring to, don’t you think?” his eyes had narrowed as he faked an unaware tone. He knew exactly what Ermal was alluding to, but he waited for him to get straight to the point.

Ermal’s lips twitched. “I just saw the guards gathering most of the servants down here and I want to know why.”

With a slow movement, his father stood up and got closer to the seaward window overlooking the large area at the foot of Pyke Castle where his guards were currently assembling several people.

“Tell me, Ermal, didn’t you notice there have been more storms than usual lately?” his gaze continued to linger on the scene taking place down below, his back was towards the younger man. “Winter is coming,” he said, earning a confused glance from Ermal.

“Yeah, so what?” Ermal asked, now starting to get annoyed by the other’s careless attitude.

“And _so_ , we should actually stock up on food ahead of this long winter. We’re quite short on supplies this year,” he uttered slowly.

“What are you implying?” Edge of impatience crept into his tone.

“I’m not _implying_ , I’m telling you that without them, there would be less mouths to feed.” His voice was low, cruel bites slipping into his numbed tone.

A blind rage swept over Ermal, his face growing haggard with contempt. “You’re going to get those people killed like they were nothing!” He muttered furiously under his breath.

The lord finally turned, averting his eyes from his window in order to look at the young man. “Their deaths will provide food for some Ironborn.” His voice was stern with no vestige of remorse in its hardness. “The Ironborn come first of all. And those servants know it, too.”

Ermal’s stomach clenched and his lips curled with disgust as his thoughts came yapping and growling around him like a pack of wolves. Those people were innocent and some of them were hardly more than children, but the prideful King of the Iron Islands wasn’t one to get rebuffed by such a small obstacle. The world was full of monsters like him, and they were hard to recognize because they had white hands and a docile voice. They rented their heart to a dark night devoid of any light.

“There must be another way…” His body was almost shaking with rage as he watched him with numbed disgust, with hate darkling as the swift winter hail.

“It’s surely the most effective way. A small price to pay for granting the Ironborn’s lives,” the Lord commented as though the answer were obvious.

Tension rose in Ermal's throat and he swallowed dryly, wishing there would be even the tiniest chance he could change the other’s mind. “Why don’t you wait for Venditti’s ship to come back here with some more supplies?” he asked all of a sudden.

Only now did his father’s eyes sharpen in a withering gaze, the mere mention of the captain’s name was enough to give rise to a tinge of irritation on his face. Over the past few years, his father hadn’t failed to notice that Venditti had a special consideration for Ermal, and consequently it wasn’t hard to comprehend that the foreign smuggler had actually understood something of no concern to him. Even though the captain certainly couldn’t know everything, it was undeniable that the King of the Ironborn found his presence somewhat inconvenient. However he didn’t value him a real threat, and besides, the Captain’s trades and smuggling turned out to be rather useful.

“Well, apparently his ship isn’t likely to come back before some months. And I’m not going to waste any food for nothing.” His voice had hardened ruthlessly.

Ermal was looking at him contemptuously and furrowed his brows. “So killing those people is _nothing_ to you,” he hissed in a cold a tone.

“I’ll find some other servants and no one is going to complain about my decision, you can be sure about that.” The man turned a cold eye on him.

Irritation crinkled Ermal’s eyes. He had tried to persuade him, but his pleas were undoubtedly falling on deaf ears. As much as he wished it were not so, even Ermal had to acknowledge it could be argued that no Ironman would oppose his father’s decision. The truth was that the Ironborn held their Lord in very high regard, to the point of starting to refer to him with the title of their _King_ , as well as the Lord of the Iron Islands. Through the years, his father had followed a rather different political line from the one of his predecessors, with the purpose of ensuring that the Iron Islands gained a major and salient role among the Seven Kingdoms, yet always preserving the Ironborn’s heritage and rooted traditions. As a result, with his kingship there were more trades with other regions of Westeros and foreign products managed to get to the Islands. Moreover, plundering and pillaging villages was a custom which not only continued, but had even increased during those years, with the only difference that it was not unusual for the king of the Iron Islands himself to take part in some raids every so often. However, what the Ironborn still ignored were the King’s real intentions implied behind every move and decision. His major aim was actually to extend his power until, at last, he would succeed in becoming King of all Westeros, the ruler of all the Seven Kingdoms, whose seat was in King's Landing. And in all this play, Ermal was fundamental because although the King viewed his second son as expandable for some future useful alliance, keeping the first heir was of great significance, at least until the Lord managed to finally sit on the Iron Throne. Until that moment, his eldest son was actually necessary for showing a semblance of legacy which was undoubtedly essential to fulfill his plans; as a matter of fact, he knew he was supposed to have a legitimate heir in order to take the Throne and thus rule over Westeros. In the meantime, Ermal was by no means a threat to him and to the achievement of his goals, on the contrary, his presence served him to emphasize that he had perfectly adopted the Ironborn’s values and traditions. Blood ties were those that, it was widely acknowledged, determined the degree of respect in force inside clans and families: most unlikely the Lord of the Iron Islands would have been appreciated if he disrespected his own heir.

“But feel free to join them if you care so much,” the man then added with a voice soaked with irony.

Yet, even if really allowed to, Ermal would never do it, and neither would he escape from the Iron Islands. It was a thought which had crossed his mind once or twice several years before, but now he’d never leave, firstly because he had his younger brother to take care of and guide, but also because in spite of everything he did care about the Iron Islands and the fate of their people. As Prince, Ermal still hadn’t stopped to hope that he could actually make a difference somehow, that he could _disobey_ and change things within his kingdom. He wanted to witness the evolving of the situation and, when possible, to try to obstruct his father’s doing, for he could imagine a better kingdom for those lands, a kingdom where human values mattered more, to the detriment of violence.

Now, it only remained for Ermal to try one last time, though. His eyes darted, paused then shifted again before he decided to make a last attempt. “But what if we managed to organize the supplies for this winter so that there would be enough food for everyone?”

The Lord threw back his head and laughed, long and loud and mocking as he swiftly moved away from the window, then leaning against his desk. “I won’t waste time to save food for a few servants. And even if I did,” he uttered more slowly, “no one becomes King following mere _possibilities,_ Ermal.”

“And no one respects one who doesn’t even take them into consideration,” Ermal spat out, his voice heavy with contempt.

“You think so?” His father was watching him with a piercing stare and a severe countenance.

After taking a brief sigh in shuddering fear, ever under that watchful stare, Ermal had figured out how to proceed.

“What would you like me to say?”

The other man raised a single eyebrow, evidently amused, and smirked at his son's obvious defiance.  
“Finish your earlier remark, son.”

That was a challenge. Ermal could hear it in his father's smooth tone.

“You will never become King of the seven Kingdoms.” He waved his hand dismissively, aware of how dangerous his outspoken words were but quite beyond caring. “No one other than the Ironborn would respect you enough.”

The silence which followed Ermal's words was smothering, and it was in that silence that the prince recounted all his words and finally remembered who he was talking to. The young man was standing rigid, unable to wet his parched throat as anxiety hung like a dark impenetrable cloud.

“And you, Ermal?” hissed the king with vehemence.

As expected, his expression had stretched into a mask of anger. “Look at you now, _Prince of the Ironborn._ ” He lingered his gaze on him long enough for Ermal too to realise he was swallowing nervously and his hands were opening and closing in trepidation, rhythmically clenching.

“You're supposed to be my _heir._ ”

His voice sounded unnaturally sly, sending shivers down Ermal's spine.

  
  


***

  
  


…

_thump thump…_

_thump thump…_

_thump thump…_

  
  


Chided by that silence of a hush sublime, Ermal’s heart was finally slowing down, steadying.

The flowing of the tide was soothing him and helping him to calm his nerves more and more. The dreamy sea had a rhythmic pulse, it forged its own sounds and kindled its own symphony.

Staring in the blackness at some distant star, Ermal leaned on Antonello’s small boat and eventually began to calm down. It was a strong, yet slightly unsteady feeling. A thing of as frail enchantment as the gleam of stars upon the sea. Nevertheless, it was enough to make him breathe and still the beating of his heart. Because, ultimately, what was hope? Was it the light at the back of darkness or the ability to imagine that light even when he knew it was not there?

A few hours later, Ermal slowly started to get back to the shore, towards the mainland and then finally to Antonello’s house.


	10. Chapter 10

_Che poi se si potesse_

_dipingerei il cielo,_

_Rinascerei perché_

_non meriti quello che ero_

The guilt was like ice in his guts. Fabrizio’s sight quivered slightly and a stinging feeling began to spread rapidly in his chest. It had all occurred so quickly, so suddenly, that Fabrizio still hadn’t had the time to process it. But only now that Ermal’s figure was getting further and further away from him, gradually disappearing altogether from his sight, was he able to fully realize what had just happened. He remained motionless before that empty street where he could still see flashes of Ermal running away from him just few moments earlier. He could not believe that from tomorrow everything would be different, that they wouldn’t see each other again, when deep down Ermal was the eternity to him.

His thoughts were clouded and his shoulders hunched as his heart turned into lead, sinking slowly inside him.

“Fabrizio…?”

He turned around immediately just to found himself face to face with the other man, who of course was still right there and hadn’t left, albeit Fabrizio was wholly oblivious to his presence for the time being. He couldn't think of something to say, though, unsure on how to give a proper shape to his messy, smothering thoughts.

“Would you mind to explain what the hell just happened?” the man said, not caring to hide a hint of pure confusion.

Fabrizio averted his gaze, and traced the narrow alley with his downcast eyes, “I-it’s… well, Andrea I ha--”

“It’s alright, Fab,” Andrea interrupted him straight away, noticing how visibly upset Fabrizio looked in that moment. “You can tell me everything while sitting down at the inn,” Andrea told him gently.

In response, the other man nodded weakly before silently following Andrea inside a nearby small inn.

It was a warm, intimate environment, permeated by suffused light and dark colours. With no more than sporadic customers eating and drinking here and there, the place was by no means crowded, to the delight of Fabrizio who clearly wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the presence of too many noisy people. They chose a table, a little set apart, and sat in front of each other. Fabrizio could easily perceive Andrea’s eyes fixed on himself, even though he wasn’t looking straight at the other man. He wasn’t wrong, though, because Andrea’s brow was actually furrowed, his mouth slightly open, and he was clearly watching him with a quizzical look.

"Order some wine first and we'll talk later," Fabrizio said somewhat tense, with the tone of someone who wouldn't accept a refusal.

Andrea blinked twice before waving towards the hostman, not daring to reject, given how resolute Fabrizio had just sounded.

"So, now you can talk," he made a barely perceptible nod towards the two filled glasses of wine now placed before their eyes.

Fabrizio took a deep breath and cleared his throat in an agitated way. "I think you-" he stopped, deciding it'd be easier if he took a sip of wine first. "Ok, as I was saying, the man you saw few minutes ago was Erm- Prince Greyjoy himself," he corrected quickly.

"Your target," Andrea's eyes had widened a little. "And he was _right_ _there_."

"Yes. You can consider the mission over. I won't kill him. And, well, neither will any of you, of course," Fabrizio pointed out blatantly.

The dishevelled small inn was gradually filling up, two men on the corner were bursting into cheers after one drink too many. And their loud laughs were a strong contrast with the silence growing between Fabrizio and Andrea following the last remark.

“Fab, the Ironborn haven’t stopped wanting the Prince dead and they demand a certain rapidity from us,” his voice had raised remarkably, causing other people to turn their eyes upon them, but thankfully his words turned out just as mere indistinct sounds. “Since the Ironborn would be even willing to increase the reward, the other Faceless thought it best to send more men to look for him. That’s why I was sent here. And now you’re saying you’ve found him but you’re not going to fulfill the mission? Why?” he asked with a lower tone and narrowed his eyes in a look of intense focus that could be mistaken for annoyance, but albeit he gave out an angry attitude he wasn’t angry at all, but rather merely puzzled.

Fabrizio ran a hand through his black hair repeatedly as he sighed deeply.

“I love him, Andrea.” His voice cracked.

Andrea opened and closed his mouth several times before being able to form words. “Oh. Now it all makes sense.” A slow smile built as the surprise sank in. “And I suppose you didn’t tell him the truth,” he added, definitely calmer this time.

“No.” Fabrizio looked away and it came out as a whisper from his lips.

Andrea watched him gravely for awhile, in perfect silence. He was drinking some of that wine when Fabrizio finally glanced back at him with a pained look, his brown eyes filled with deep discomfort.

“I’m sorry, Fab,” he began, “but I promise you don’t have to worry. I’ll just pretend not to have seen him and I’ll report that he’s not in Dorne, you can count on me.” He spoke gently, squeezing his friend’s shoulder in a reassuring way.

“Thank you, Andrea, really,” he mumbled sincerely, but his faint smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I guess I need a place to stay as long as I’m here in Sunspear, though,” the other man reasoned.

“Don’t worry about that, you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

Andrea nodded satisfied. “Sounds perfect. So, if you are done drinking, shall we go?” he had already raised from the table and was about to leave when he realised the other wasn’t following him; on the contrary he was still sitting there.

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer, but go ahead, Andrea.”

Just like that, Fabrizio was pervaded by a sense of defeat and sudden weakness, his limbs felt heavy.

Andrea watched him in some concern, fumbling for words, not sure what to say but then he walked over to him and simply patted him on the back before going away.

  
  


  
  


Fabrizio drank in silence, hoping to find his relief from guilt lying at the bottom of the glass and then at the bottom of the entire bottle. And so the whole evening dragged on.

He was holding his head in his hands on the table and he could already feel the start of a headache.

Admittedly, his nerves just weren’t firing accurately, and neither with their usual speed, therefore he took awhile before realizing someone was slowly walking towards his table. Though his vision wavered, there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, because that particular way of sighing was unmistakable. Fabrizio’s gaze raised slightly, just enough to recognize the person now sitting in front of him, but didn’t bother to raise his head or say something even when Niccolò started to speak. “So… I went to your house just to ask you something and I found Andrea. He told me what happened and that I’d find you here. He was quite sure you were still sitting here all alone. He was right, apparently,” he turned his eyes upon Fabrizio, staring at him for a few instants before letting out a loud, long sigh.

Fabrizio blinked and averted his gaze, feeling his breath catch in his throat. “He’s gone. He found out and now he’s gone, Nico.”

His headache was getting worse, but at the same time emotions rose to the surface more easily now. He could probably blame all the wine he had drunk for that.

It was evident how defeat he was right now, his eyes had a strange sunken look and were densely threaded with scarlet while a clear look of despairing sorrow had fallen upon his figure.

But apart from his undeniable unkempt appearance, Niccolò also noticed a peculiar bottle carelessly resting among other empty glasses of wine.

“Orange liqueur? Really?” his eyebrows had raised as he read the name on the bottle, “ _Che te bevi ‘sta roba?_ It’s probably the worst of the worst here in Sunspear,” he exclaimed amused.

“Who cares.”

The young man grimaced sheepishly when seeing Fabrizio so visibly detached and figured that orange liqueur was a topic to discuss some other time. “So,” he cleared his throat, “did he see you and Andrea exchanging the coin of the Faceless Men?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he uttered lowly, “and did he… did he run away immediately?”

“Yes.”

“And you had not told him anything before that?”

There was a slow shake of his head. “No.”

The young man watched him somewhat worried, for at this point it was clear that Fabrizio was continuing to give him just short clipped answers with an emotionless tone.

“Fabbrì, even though you’re feeling so filled up with guilt now, I’m sure you had your reasons for not telling him sooner. That’s definitely not an easy thing to talk about, I get it.” His honest tone seeped through his words as he tried to put on a small smile.

Fabrizio returned his gaze for a mere moment, but despite Nico’s sincere words, his eyes remained blank, devoid of hope and he clearly was not responding to the other’s attempts at encouragement.

“Yes, but now he has run away,” he murmured with a painful thickness in his throat.

Only now did Niccolò keep silent for awhile, but silence was filled with the rhythmic sound of his fingernails clicking against the dark table, while he thought about the proper way to say what he had in mind. “Fab,” he started with a sigh, “I’ve known you for years and I really have to admit I have never seen you so...” he gestured vaguely at Fabrizio’s direction with his hand, “well, like _this_. Not to mention this was the first time I’ve seen you so determined not to carry out a mission. You know, I won’t pretend to say I wasn’t a bit skeptical about giving up the mission, but after having seen with my own eyes the way you look at Ermal, I was convinced, too.”

In front of him, Fabrizio had raised his head so as to glance at him with half-closed eyes, through his dark lashes.

“So, what I’m trying to say is,” Nic continued, “I can see how important Ermal is to you, Fabrì.”

No sooner had Niccolò finished to talk than a slight smile graced Fabrizio’s downcast features, his brown eyes finally regaining some of their light. The fact was, that while Nic’s frankness and sensitivity certainly were nothing new to him, that young man never stopped to surprise him. And so he smiled, realizing that Nic knew him well enough, therefore it was quite obvious to assume he wouldn’t take long before finding out he had fallen in love with Ermal.

“He truly is, Nic,” he finally said, letting out an uncontrolled sigh. “You have no idea…”

A quiet contentment spread through Niccolò when he noticed he had managed to lift Fabrizio’s mood even just a little bit. He still had an unkempt appearance, though, since defeat was replaced by sadness encumbering over him. _Ok, one step at a time_ , thought Nic.

“But now you have to find him and talk to him. You own him an apology, don’t you think?”

“Mhh yeah,” a hand ran through his hair with frustration.

“He has probably run away to Antonello’s house, I suppose. Maybe you should go there now and see him,” he tilted his head, lowering his voice and hoping that Fabrizio would actually listen to him, rather than refusing to go there.

Fabrizio merely grabbed an almost empty glass, his hand shaking a little, thus causing the remaining liquid to ripple in the glass. His fingers suddenly broadened the grip on the glass, clutching it so tightly as if willing to shatter it.

“I think I’ve lost him, Nico. This time I’ve truly lost him,” he repeated, muttering more to himself. He took his head in his hands, lowering down his eyes.

It was taking him longer and longer to put thoughts together and his stomach dropped as an abrupt feeling of desperation overwhelmed him. Those awful endless seconds of Ermal running away from him were replaying over and over in his mind, to the point of obsessing him. One moment there was only Andrea whispering something to him he didn’t even remember anymore, and then there was Ermal with an expression he would have never wanted to see painted on his face. A look of shuddering horror had distorted his pale features for a moment, before sharp _betrayal_ took over, transfixing his eyes with deep hurt. And yet, what was haunting him the most was the acute pain he could still perceive, the same pain which had constricted his chest the precise moment Ermal had flinched to his touch.

So visibly hopeless looked Fabrizio in that moment that the younger man felt a sudden onset of dizziness. Rarely had he seen him like this, so demoralized and refusing to be reasoned with. “Oh c’mon, Fabrì, you’re simply overthinking! I’m more than sure that you can fix this. All you have to do is go and talk to him.” He opened his palms towards him. “It’s easy.”

At that, Fabrizio thankfully managed to put on a quick smile and it would have been almost convincing if it weren’t for the sadness within his dark eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right...” He slowly passed a hand over his forehead. “But the truth is that I’m afraid, Nico. I’m afraid to find out he hates me,” he whispered, barely audible.

His bluntness caused Niccolò to blink a few times. He stared at him, finally fully grasping what the other was actually extremely worried about.

“It can’t be, Fabbrì.” He shook his head rapidly. “You’ve always been honest with him, aside from this _thing_ , haven’t you? Once you two clear this up, you might as well go back to the way it was before… by small steps, of course. Your feelings definitely weren’t a lie.”

Fabrizio simply fell back into his chair, his body finally losing its stiff posture. He briefly bowed his head and a slow, sincere smile spread across his lips. “Thank you, Nico.”

“You know you can always count on me, Fab.” He shrugged.

Fabrizio let out a huge breath but then opened his eyes unexpectedly, staring at Nico with a confused look.

“What?”

“Just a few minutes ago you said you went to my place to ask me something, what was it about?”

“Ahh, right, I had almost forgotten,” the young man nodded, assuming that not only was Fab curious to know that, but it probably was also a way to change the topic for awhile and maybe lighten the atmosphere a little bit. “Let’s just say things are going really well with the blonde girl who sells flowers… do you remember? So I wanted to ask you if you knew some place nearby, here in Sunspear… Well, in short, I’d like to take her somewhere nice but I’m running out of ideas,” he said, playing with a lock of his hair and twisting it around his fingers.

“Well, let me think… some months ago Ermal and I had lunch at the inn where I usually go with you. The one not too distant from the dock, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad, but I was thinking about something different this time.” Niccolò poured himself a glass of wine, looking askance at the half empty bottle of orange liqueur.

“Alright. So, now that you make me think about it, I once took Ermal to see a collapsed ancient temple a bit far from here, and it’s really an amazing place. Go there, it’s worth it.”

All of a sudden, a shadow of melancholy touched his lithe memories, as a cloud dimmed the waving of golden grain, and he was abruptly faced with the realization that, lately, Ermal was in all of his fondest memories. He couldn’t deny that he had lived a very intense life experience in those few, but nevertheless vivid months spent in Ermal’s company, ever since he met him. His stare became vacant as he reflected on the fact that there should have been another life to stop a second away from that mistake, to comprehend everything before it was already passed through his hands.

Out of nowhere, Niccolò’s voice diverted him from his distant thoughts. “Oh, that sounds perfect. Thanks for the advice!” He showed him a smile, while already imagining his next date at the ancient temple.

“What about we both leave this place now? You’ve been here long enough, Fabri. Besides, you really should go to Antonello’s and talk to Ermal.”

Fabrizio chewed on his bottom lip with a sudden stab of anxiety in his guts. “You’re right. Let’s go then,” he sighed. “But first I have to pay for all I’ve drunk,” he added, taking a quick look at the empty glasses somewhat sheepishly.

“Oh no, don’t worry about that, you don’t have to. This time, it’s on me. Consider it a thank you for suggesting me that place,” Niccolò was quick to state as though it were rather obvious.

And it was really hard not to laugh as he scrabbled around in his small bag, trying to find the right and sufficient coins and making an awful lot of noise in the process.

Eventually, they did manage to pay and leave the warm inn just to find themselves surrounded by dark streets and the cool breeze of the night.

“So you promise me you’re going to Antonello’s house, mh?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll take the long way, though. I just... need to get my head straight.” Once again, his hair was made a mess by his hand running through it.

“Fine, Fabbrì, I’ll just go home, then. I’m sure everything will be alright,” he said gently. “See you around.” He gave him a quick hug.

“Thanks, Nic.”

  
  


As he gradually walked away from the inn where he had spent those last hours, Fabrizio tried to concentrate on the cool night air brushing against his skin, as well as the trivial details surrounding him, thus hoping to numb that hoggish anxiety just for a little while. He rested his weary eyes upon the leaves, fluttering in the garden of a familiar wealthy building marking the end of the road, which reminded him that he was getting closer and closer to Antonello’s house, without even realising it. In the light of day, the road leading to the captain’s house had always seemed longer, but now that dark shapes and unceasing thoughts blurred together, Fabrizio wished he had more time, more time to put order to his shattered thoughts. Once again his emotions turned jagged and his chest tight, though deep down he was well aware that anxiety and nervousness were nothing but a shield for guilt and fear. He wondered how Ermal was right now, how betrayed he was feeling, how he would react when seeing him knocking on his door and if he would notice that emotional debris within his gaze. Before he knew it, Fabrizio found himself right in front of that door. He swallowed down the anxiety and took a deep shaky breath before finally making up his mind to raise his trembling hand and knock.

His knocking was received by silence though, and so he tried once more, with more decision this time. Finally, some steps were to be heard from inside the house.

“All right, I'm coming, I'm coming, Ermal!”

As soon as he had the time to grasp the other’s words, confusion painted on Fabrizio’s face. But before he could think about it further, the door was opened and he was met with a very surprised Venditti. Lines formed between the older man’s eyebrows the moment he recognized the figure standing at his door, and he stared at him with wide eyes.

“Mh? You? I thought it was Ermal,” he mumbled.

Fabrizio opened and closed his mouth without speaking, finding himself terribly at a loss for words.

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Antonello spoke again, more than a little annoyed, to tell the truth.

Fabrizio looked at him with a blank look. “I… well, I came here because I wanted to talk with Ermal...”

But Venditti frowned in response, with a slack expression on his face. “Well, Ermal’s not here right now.”

“So he’s not with you?” Fabrizio asked in disbelief.

When the older man did no more than shake his head totally confused, a feeling of disorientation and dizziness hit Fabrizio, leading him to swallow heavily.

“I took for granted he was with you, but apparently…” he uttered, narrowing his eyes.

Fabrizio’s lips were pressed tight. “Where is he now..?” his eyes shut closed. “I betrayed him and now he’s gone. He’s gone...” he anxiously muttered to himself, driven by desperation.

His nagging pain seeped out distinctly in his words and, in spite of his urgent and growing worry for Ermal, Venditti thought it best to get Fabrizio to calm down, so that he would be able to explain what had happened. “Ok, ok, first of all, calm down a minute. Come inside and then you’ll tell me what happened,” he said firmly.

Fabrizio merely followed him inside, without speaking, and once arrived in the kitchen, Venditti silently invited him to take a seat. Fabrizio was momentarily unable to make out words properly and was also avoiding looking at him; Venditti, on the other hand, carefully observed his appearance and it didn’t take him long to understand he had drunk, judging from his unkempt look and the way his clothes smelled faintly of alcohol. He grimaced, “Man, you really need to sober up a bit before you start to explain what happened. I think I have the right thing to make you feel better, it’s a particular herbal tea from Essos,” he told him, as Fabrizio just nodded in silence. It was in that moment that his gaze fell on a pair of books casually abandoned on a shelf, one of which he immediately recognized as the one for children, the same book he and Ermal had used in order to make their kite. In his books Ermal had found his shelter, he spent hours inside the pages of those books, sheltered from time, even. With his shoulders covered in dust, sitting on the edge of a word with his legs dangling on the following line. Fabrizio closed his eyes just briefly and was instantly dunked into a breathtaking display of memories in his mind. He effortlessly began to imagine Ermal sitting right there on one of those chairs and perhaps reading precisely one of those books, he could easily picture the way his eyes drew words, as well as hear as his calm voice read them aloud. His eyes focused inward, sadness draining through him. He could feel his emotions toppling outside of his mind and it was by now impossible to hold back his hopelessness.

“How am I supposed to live without him now…?” his voice was low and heavy with desperation.

Venditti stared suspiciously at him. “Exactly like you used to do before you even knew him, I guess,” he blurted out with a sharpening tone. “I’ll go prepare your herbal tea, so wait here until it’s done. It won’t take me long,” he then added, before finally going into the other room.

Fabrizio ran a hand through his unkempt hair for the umpteenth time that night. It was impossible for him not to think about how his life was before knowing Ermal, how deeply different and distant it seemed now.

  
  


***

  
  


Fabrizio had admittedly lost count of how many people had actually come and gone from brothel _Rola_ in just few hours. He had been lurking in the main square down there, pretending to be visiting the market and maybe casually buying some stuff, while instead observing all the men entering and leaving the brothel. It was actually the major brothel in Blackhaven, a small yet densely populated town holding fealty to House Baratheon, and apparently Fabrizio’s next target was a rather frequent guest of that well-known brothel. He was waiting and disguising his true intentions while wearing the face of one of the men who had come to die in the sanctuary in Bravoos, which allowed him to appear as an entirely new person.

At a certain point the door of the brothel was yanked open and Fabrizio glimpsed the man he was looking for finally leaving the place, followed by some other clients. The man turned the corner of the alley and walked away, therefore Fabrizio too left the main square, cautiously following the man, so as not to lose track of his target. It took the man a while before heading towards his house, firstly stopping at an inn to drink a bit. As a result, Fabrizio entered too, ordering a pint of beer and drinking utterly unnoticed while occasionally shooting quick glances at the man. Within no more than an hour, though, the man had drunk the last glass and finally left, before arriving to his noble and quite opulent house.

The walls were particularly high, hand worked stone set around timbers that were infilled with cobb. Once arrived there, Fabrizio stayed outside, leaned on a wall and blending in with the lightless road. That wasn’t certainly his first mission, so needless to say, he was well aware that he was supposed to wait for a little while before entering, waiting for the right time when the man would be comfortably at home and hence completely caught off guard. The town was asleep and its streets nearly empty when Fabrizio broke into his target’s house.

From the outside the building didn’t look like much more than a common trivial place but judging from the inside, the space was adequate enough to shelter that man and his family. A few candles and the fireplace were currently serving as dim lighting during the night. As he entered the main hall, Fabrizio noticed that the stone fireplace would provide a lot of heat during the long cold winter. And it would have been definitely more than enough for both the family and some servants, if the house weren’t basically empty, with the exception of Fabrizio’s target. As a matter of fact, the man in question was drowning in debt, hence he could no longer afford to have any servant.

Fabrizio walked the halls invisibly, coming up the stairs until he arrived in the man’s bedroom. The door was open, allowing him to enter more silently, and he immediately saw the man sleeping in his bed. With a rapid yet noiseless movement, the Faceless Man reached the bed and pulled out a knife hidden under his shirt. The knife pierced the man’s skin and Fabrizio slitted his throat with no hesitation. Then he waited until the man had choked on his own blood. The dead body lay like a ghoulish mannequin, the sharp stench of blood filling the air. Fabrizio didn’t leave immediately, though. He first proceeded to turn the room upside down, since the Faceless Men were supposed to go so far as to try to make their assassinations look like accidents, or in this case like a random robbery. Once back in the main hall, Fabrizio started to do the same thing, thereby leaving the room in complete disarray. Some family portraits were quickly dropped on the ground as Fabrizio began to open drawers and ruin objects, without any distinction whatsoever.

Eventually, he left the house and walked towards the place where he knew Niccolò was waiting for him. And there he was, Nic, patiently waiting for Fabrizio to come back.

“We’re done here, Nico,” he stated coldly.

  
  


***

Fabrizio pondered on how much things had clearly changed since that distant day when he had decided to go and talk to Ermal for the first time, at the dock where both of them worked. He smiled to himself as he thought about how much better his life was now, now that Ermal’s mere presence enhanced his days. Before that, he was filled with anger and sorrow, and used to coldly accomplish the missions he was given by the other Faceless Men admittedly also due to his pale desire to revenge his son’s death, somehow.

Fabrizio thought everything had changed just when he had started to fall in love with Ermal, but then it hit him. Only now did he finally realize that it had all happened even long before. Ever since he met him, Fabrizio had sensed that his own soul was somehow akin to Ermal’s. Indeed, he felt himself more connected to him than to anyone else he had ever met. The bond he shared with the younger man felt so real, so deep, as if it were the start of the sweetest of melodies, so soothing and in perfect harmony with his soul. It hadn’t taken him long to understand that there was something special about Ermal, something which made him appear entirely different from the other targets of his past missions. So many details came into focus now: his way of smiling never without a hint of shyness, that glimmer of dark in the depths of his brown eyes, his every little thing and every unsaid word between the two of them, all of this had made Fabrizio want to get to know Ermal better and better, to the point of ignoring the mission completely.

In a life full of fleeting events, Ermal was a perpetual feeling. And now that everything had changed dramatically, how was he supposed to even take care of himself when the only way he knew to love himself was through Ermal?

  
  


Fabrizio was still lost in thought when he glimpsed Venditti coming back from the other room, holding a cup of that peculiar herbal tea. He sat right in front of him, putting the cup before Fabrizio’s eyes and then sighed heavily. He waited for him to take a few sips, staring at him with undisguised suspicion and his arms crossed.

“Now you’d better explain everything to me.”

Taking a deep breath, Fabrizio nodded at him, before finally speaking, “So… to tell the truth, I haven’t come back here in Sunspear by chance. I’ve been sent here, actually,” he started, speaking clearly and slowly, taking his time to see how the other was reacting.

“Sent here why, exactly?” Venditti uttered with impatience.

Fabrizio hesitated for a moment, but then figured he didn’t have to hide the truth anymore. “Well, I guess there is no point in hiding this. The Ironborn have asked the Faceless Men to find and kill the Prince who had killed their King and I was entrusted with this mission.” His gaze lowered immediately. “ Ermal found it out few hours ago,” he murmured hesitantly and a shaky hand ran through his hair with a trembling movement.

Venditti’s eyes widened and then narrowed as anger and sudden alarm sank in. His nerves stiffened and he studied Fabrizio with unforgiving bitterness and disdain. “I always knew there was something suspicious about you...” he was talking in a carefully controlled tone. “ If you did hurt Ermal, I swear--”

“I didn’t!” Fabrizio exclaimed suddenly. “I would never hurt him.” He shook his head quickly before whispering, “I love him.”

Venditti softened his stare slightly , even though he didn’t trust him yet. “But you’ve always lied to him. And you’ve been playing with him all this time.”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Fabrizio insisted, “It’s true that at the beginning I was trying to study him, so as to get an idea of who he was, but everything changed after so little time. Now he probably hates me and I think I lost him...” he covered his face with hands. “ I can assure you that I ’ve totally stopped thinking about both the mission and the Faceless Men as soon as Ermal told me everything,” he added, sincerely hoping that the other man would start to believe him.

But Venditti 's brows furrowed at his words, and he was oddly looking at Fabrizio with wide eyes. “Did he… did he actually tell you everything?”

Fabrizio blinked at him. “Well, yes. Everything.” He could feel his fists trembling and his lips pressed tightly at the memory of all Ermal’s shaky words.

The older man shook his head in denial for a moment, as if he could hardly believe it. “Honestly, he never talked to me about it...” he swallowed rapidly and chewed on his bottom lip, “I mean, I’ve always known _something_ and figured out some other things, but he has never told me and I’ve never asked,” he admitted bluntly. “If he told you everything, it means he truly cares about you. Probably, even more than you think,” he spoke with honesty, eventually looking into Fabrizio’s eyes.

A small smile curved Fabrizio’s lips and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath of relief. However, there was one more thing that was really worrying him now, and that is to say he had no idea where Ermal was right now. He had just assumed that Ermal would be home with Antonello, but now he couldn’t help but wonder where he was, and especially if he was alright and safe. His gaze flitted around the room, as deep worry started to overwhelm him and he wasn’t able to conceal his concern. “Where do you think he is now? Shouldn’t we go look for him?”

“I don’t think we should worry. He probably needed some time alone. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Antonello reassured him, giving him a faint smile.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. So I’ll come back here tomorrow morning to try to talk to Ermal.”

Fabrizio stood up slowly and walked towards the door, but not before thanking Venditti. He left the house, admittedly feeling way better than before arriving there and talking with the captain.

  
  


Nevertheless, Fabrizio wouldn’t, by no means, expect to see Ermal right in front of him, coming slowly towards Antonello’s place.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> February 15 is International Fanworks Day so here's chapter 11! ;)

_Ci vorrebbe un'altra vita_

_per ritornare sui nostri passi e_

_per ritrovare la pace che non c'è_

It was still the middle of the night when Fabrizio left Venditti’s house. He could hear the light wind whispering through the branches and rustling the leaves and it was hard to distinguish shapes and contours through the dark. Still, Fabrizio could make out the slowly approaching figure at amidst the lightless and empty road. Immediately, he stopped walking, temporarily frozen and unable to take a single step further. And after only a few moments, Ermal was already closer than he had expected. Once he too became aware of Fabrizio’s presence, he slowed down -as if astounded- for no more than a brief moment before his pace hastened, quickly getting right in front of Fabrizio.

“What are you doing here?” Ermal glared at him sharply, his eyes narrowing as he spoke.

His tone came out colder than Fabrizio had imagined, and once again, there was that suffocating, heavy feeling sinking lower and lower in his chest. He was actually determined to look the younger man straight in the eyes when finally talking to him, to face him without averting his gaze, but the way Ermal’s irises reflected his hurt made his own gaze waver.

“I… I was just at Antonello’s.” He realized to be gasping for words. “I thought you were there and I wanted to talk to you.” He ran a hand through his hair nervously, while Ermal was merely looking at him, in silence, his face as unreadable as fate.

All Fabrizio wanted to do in this moment was undoubtedly hold him tight, keeping him close and make him feel safe, whispering to him how terribly sorry he was, repeating it over and over again. Nevertheless, Ermal’s distrust was just as unmistakable, implying that there was so much Fabrizio had to explain and fix, first. But as much as he knew that Ermal deserved to know the whole truth, Fabrizio figured that it could wait just a little longer for there was a different thought which weighed him down. “But what about you? Where have you been all night, Ermal?” He asked, unable to hide his concern.

Ermal could hear Fabrizio’s nerves and deep worry in the slight quiver of his voice, but he was quick to brush them aside by shaking his hand in the air. “So now do we tell each other everything? And since when?” He blurted out harshly. “Sorry, I didn’t know it worked like that.” A look of great bitterness swept across his face.

Fabrizio winced. He swallowed heavily and darted glances at the younger man, who was keeping his guard up, looking so visibly tense and nervous with his lips growing thin and firm.

It was staggering how quickly everything had turned to this. The eyes that were once filled with so much happiness and light were now replaced with bitterness and betrayal. And Fabrizio more than anyone knew all too well that he was the one to blame. It was his own fault, hiding the truth for that long, when he should have found the right time to reveal everything to him. But, maybe, there was the slightest chance he could fix this, after all, he might as well try. And even though he hadn’t planned to face Ermal so soon, convinced as he was to go talk to him only the following morning, it was something which couldn’t possibly wait any longer, for Ermal deserved to know the whole truth from him.

So Fabrizio let out a weak sigh, lowering his gaze before coming back to glance at him. “You’re right, Ermal… and I’m truly sorry. I owe you an explanation.”

Ermal raised his eyebrows, “Oh, yeah you really do.”

"I know… let me explain everything to you," Fabrizio uttered in a low tone. “Let’s sit here, though.” He went to sit on a low wall on the side of the road.

“All right…”

Ermal pressed his lips together somewhat nervously, but followed him, nonetheless. And it was with bitter dismay and piercing guilt that Fabrizio noticed the other had positioned himself a little away from him. With hands clasped tightly in front of his stomach, Ermal constantly fiddled with his knuckles, weaving his fingers in and out of each other. He was tense, his lips were pressed firmly together and his head was down, with long curls covering his face. Concealed under his hair, his eyes were as dark and severe as the sky above them, where a cluster of stars hung like leaves on the trees. He didn’t know what to expect. Truth be told, Ermal wasn’t even really certain to be actually ready to hear and face whatever Fabrizio would tell him. What he was completely sure of, however, was that he _needed_ to know everything and, most importantly, that Fabrizio at least owed him the whole truth. And in spite of everything, Ermal would not deny him the chance to explain.

“Ok, I’m listening.”

Fabrizio gave an uncertain smile, taking a deep breath before starting to speak. “So, I suppose you've understood that by now, but the man yesterday you saw with me is a Faceless Man, just like me.” His nearly soft, close-lipped smile suggested he was beginning a conversation he didn’t wish to have, yet at the same time he was more than aware that now he had to be as honest as possible because, admittedly, at this point he had nothing else to lose. Going straight to the point was probably the fairest thing to do. “I joined the guild some years ago, once I arrived in Bravoos and –”

“So it was all a huge lie?” Ermal interrupted him abruptly, widening his eyes. “ _Everything_? The time we’ve spent together, the things you said to me, Niccolò… even-” his eyes sharpened as a sudden realization hit him, “--even your _son_?” His voice was reduced to a feeble and timid sound, barely audible.

“No no!” Fabrizio exclaimed rapidly.

A look of profound hurt betrayed Ermal’s apparent coldness. The stunned and confused betrayal in his eyes, the growing pain in his voice managed to sweep over Fabrizio in a second and he was quick to dispel them. He shook his head repeatedly as if desperately trying to prevent Ermal from getting lost in those thoughts.

“No, it’s not like that. None of that was a lie, Ermal.” He looked him in the eyes, his words driven by frantic sincerity. “Let me tell you everything, please. Listen to me.”

And so he did. He started with Libero’s death, when he had decided to become one of the Faceless Men and embrace their unique beliefs, and didn’t leave out a single detail. He told him about the actual reason why he had come back to Sunspear with Niccolò, then about his original intentions on their urgent mission. He told him about the very first impressions he had had of him, and then how everything had completely and inevitably changed when he had started to fall in love with him.

Ermal heard him out in utter silence, his hands clasped on his knees, his eyes some time focusing on Fabrizio, some time lowering down. He let him explain everything, too concentrated on all he was feeling and hearing to interrupt Fabrizio.

And as soon as Fabrizio had finished, he turned his head to glance at Ermal and chewed on his bottom lip, lost in thoughts of fearful consequences to his words. Ermal wasn’t speaking, though, startled as he visibly was. He was keeping his features deceptively composed while breathing slowly.

“Just say something, Ermal. Please…”

Ermal stiffened slightly and took a deep long breath. “The only thing I can say right now is that I need time. I need some time to process and think about all of this.” Only now did he stand up, moving slightly away from the wall.

Fabrizio’s chest grew suddenly tight. “I never meant to hurt you, Ermal. And I was not lying with you.” A very small smile was then forced as he attempted to hide his concern and his too realistic fear of losing him. “I…” he begun, unsure of how to properly weave the turmoil of his feelings. “I love you,” he finished in a whisper.

Ermal’s expression softened remarkably; the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Give me some time, Fabrizio.”

And then Ermal left, taking a few steps away from Fabrizio just before the dawn-light brought the colours back to the streets. He walked with his hands buried in his pockets, and his head down, looking at the ground as he slowly headed home, exhaustion taking over.

The relentless cool breeze of the night was tapering off into a softly falling mist which managed to paint the area in a strangely sober light.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Hey! Watch out there, lad!”

The man’s shouted warning almost came too late. Barely catching the heavy trunk above him, Niccolò desperately rolled forward, stacks and stacks of precious fabrics and textiles almost falling over his head as the trunk itself was just about to open and lose everything it contained. Thankfully he did caught it in time, though, holding it firm and steady until it was moved from the ship to the ground, on his feet. The second mate of the _Under the sign of Pisces_ had been helping Niccolò to unload the cargo of the ship piece by piece the whole afternoon, but honestly he was getting quite annoyed at the young man’s growing clumsiness.

“You really should be more careful with those, lad. I told you. They’re rather valuable goods,” said the older man, lazily wagging his finger at him, as if trying once again to exhort him to be more wide-awake rather than so absent-minded.

Niccolò scratched his head somewhat mortified. “Yeah I know… sorry, sorry. Today my mind is just elsewhere.”

The sinewy man glanced at him for a moment without bothering to add anything.

“So, uhm,” Niccolò started, his gaze falling on the second mate who was getting back to work, without wasting a minute more to finish to unload the ship. “Are we done here? Do you think I can go now?”

“Yeah yeah, you’re free to go now,” the man dismissed him rapidly with a wave of hand.

Sure enough Niccolò didn’t need to be told twice, and so he turned around and quickly headed towards the town centre, full of enthusiasm. But it wasn’t until he had almost left the dock that he remembered that before leaving, he was actually supposed to remain there a little longer in order to declare all the ship’s cargo. And Ermal, as usual, was sitting right there, taking care of some undistinguishable papers scattered on his desk. He raised his curly head as soon as he noticed the younger man arriving in front of him. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey Ermal,” Nic blurted out, oddly surprised to find him right there, as if he weren’t fully aware that he worked as Antonello’s personal bookkeeper, keeping accounts of the ships. “We’ve just unloaded the cargo and this time the checking is on me,” he said.

He immediately began to list everything they had just finished to unload, hoping not to let out anything.

Finally, Ermal raised his gaze from his list and gave him a hint of a smile. “Alright, then.”

“Ok, so if everything is in order, I really should go now,” said Nico, without hiding some haste.

“Yes, it all fits. Where are you going in such a hurry?” Ermal asked curious.

“Well, my idea was taking a girl somewhere nice around here and when I asked Fabrizio he suggested me I take her to see an ancient temple here in Sunspear, so I’m going to take her there tomorrow but I don’t really know where it is. I was thinking about asking Fab to come with me for today, so that I won’t get lost with her.” He didn’t suppress a little embarrassed laugh. Then he fell silent all of a sudden, though. “But… now that I think about it, you’ve been there with him, haven’t you? Maybe you could show me the way, since you’re already here?” he asked with a hopeful tone.

Ermal blinked at him a few times, slightly taken aback by the other’s unexpected request. “Well, yes it’s true, I did go there with him.” He thought about it for a mere moment. “And yes, of course I can take you there. But… now?”

When the younger man nodded quickly, Ermal sighed and cast a rapid glance at his filled papers. “Ok, that’s fine. I’m done here anyways… we can leave now,” he shrugged then.

Niccolò smiled broadly and took a sigh of relief knowing that thanks to Ermal he would probably avoid to leave a bad impression on the girl he liked so much.

Eventually, the dock was left completely behind them and Ermal began to lead the way to the old temple, and while he looked perfectly confident and sure on the outside, on the inside he was struggling to remember the right way because, admittedly, when Fabrizio had taken him there, Ermal’s full attention wasn’t actually focused on the path. And if that wasn’t already enough, the atmosphere between them was undoubtedly quite awkward. Trivial words were exchanged every now and then just for the mere purpose of filling the silence, since Niccolò wasn’t really the type to remain silent whenever he was nervous or slightly uncomfortable. And besides, it was him who had asked Ermal to show him the way so he couldn’t really avoid to talk with him. Nevertheless, he did know that Fabrizio and what had happened in general was perhaps a topic to be avoided, unless it was Ermal who brought it up first.

But apparently he was not the only one feeling a little awkwardness.

“So… who’s this girl you’re so excited to go out with?” Ermal asked curiously, suddenly breaking that annoying silence.

“Oh, she works at the market and sells such beautiful flowers. When I was there too, our stands were quite close and the best part about working there was being able to talk and spend some time with her.” A hint of a smile came naturally, just by thinking about her.

“I suppose this must be pretty serious if you want to take her to that amazing place,” Ermal said softly, not realizing that Fabrizio had done the exact same thing for him, when he had decided to show him the night sky and the stars from there.

“Well… y-yes,” he hesitated, “I think so… or rather, I _hope_ so. Now that I work with Antonello, it goes without saying that I can’t see her every day like before, but I truly like her and I think we’re good together, so who knows? We’ll see...” he smiled, tilting his head a little.

Ermal nodded. “And how’s it going with Antonello? Did you get used to the new job?” he asked him, changing the topic.

“It’s all a whole new world to me, you have no idea!” Niccolò exclaimed in response, but then grimaced immediately, remembering that Ermal now knew what kind of job he used to do before, and therefore it couldn’t be too difficult for him to understand what a total change his new life represented for him when compared to the things he did before. And Ermal was probably assuming the worst things, due to what he had just said.

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“No, no… what I meant was that I’m not used to working on a ship and it’s all exciting and new to me,” he was quick to clarify. “I took some days before fitting in and it’s true that the working hours are a mess, but all things considered I like it here. Besides, I always see the weirdest and also richest of objects on the ships and sometimes I can’t help but ask Antonello who on earth would actually buy such things.”

The peculiar goods Nic referred to were quite familiar to Ermal, who was definitely used to seeing most of the things the Captain traded, and so he chuckled with amusement at the other’s last remark.

“And I also get along with the crewmen,” the younger man continued, “Yeah, I like working there, it’s fun,” he concluded. Then he stopped walking. “But I think I haven’t thanked you properly yet. So, well, thank you for introducing me to Antonello.”

Ermal felt himself taken by surprise. It was finally getting clear to him why Fabrizio was so fond of Niccolò; now that he was starting to get to know him a little, it was hardly surprising that they were so close.

“Oh, don’t mention it, Niccolò,” he said with a soft smile.

Just as they continued to walk, Nic spoke again, “Even though Antonello can be so bad-tempered sometimes…” he mumbled, making Ermal laugh lightly.

“Oh yes, he really can! Most of the time, actually.”

“Ermal, how long have you known Antonello?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Ermal’s previously amused expression turned considerably more pensive. He thought about coming up with an excuse for a moment but then came to the conclusion that there was no point in lying to him, now. “Well, I’ve basically known him my whole life. Since I was a little boy, to be exact. Antonello used to come to the Iron Islands to trade with Pyke, that’s how I’ve known him,” he explained simply.

Niccolò only muttered something Ermal managed to identify as a low _I see,_ and didn't ask him any more questions about it.

They turned the corner and continued their way crossing the main market square. Ermal’s memory hadn’t failed him yet and hopefully it wouldn’t start now, but just when he was by now convinced to be able to take Nic to the temple , he found himself baffled at a crossroads of two far too similar streets.

“Mh?” Niccolò realized the other had stopped all of a sudden. He looked around confused until he noticed what must once have been a quaint place but now looked like a dishevelled and abandoned house. “Don’t tell me _this_ is the famous ancient temple?” he uttered with a bit of disappointment, pointing at the collapsed building before his eyes.

Ermal shook his head, feeling simultaneously amused and perplexed by the younger man’s insinuation. “No no, of course that’s not the temple , but...” he moved his gaze from a street to its twin, hoping to find something which would remind him the right way to follow.

“So, we’re lost.”

“No, we’re not… I got it!” exclaimed Ermal suddenly. His lips cur l ed into a smile and took a step towards the street on the right. “This way.”

“And why are you so sure now?” Nic couldn’t help but ask.

“It’s because I recognized that house down there,” Ermal explained, pointing at the house which marked the beginning of the road. “That’s the tax collector’s house. While we were going to the temple, Fabrizio told me he was supposed to do a few adjustments on that house. The owner had asked him to fix the main door, which a thief had broken when robbing his house and also taking away all the tax money of the month. However, Fabrizio soon figured out that the door had been broken from the inside and once he understood his fraud, the man tried to bribe him, ready to pay him off to keep quiet. And so Fabrizio just left, angry and without doing the job.”

Niccolò just burst out laughing. “That sounds _exactly_ like him! I can totally imagine his face! ” he was trying to stop laughing but Ermal started too, remembering Fabrizio’s irritated tone when he had told him the man had tried to buy him off.

Up to now, Niccolò had been careful not to mention Fabrizio, but maybe now he could press the matter a little further. “ Did you… did you talk to him?” he tried, a little hesitantly.

Ermal pressed his lips before answering, “Yeah, we did talk just a few days ago.”

“You know, you should have seen him the night you left… it would have been amusing if he weren’t so desperate,” chuckled Nico.

When Ermal did not reply anything , Niccolò took it as a suggestion to go on. “I arrived at the inn hours later and found Fa b brì sitting on a table with his head in his hands, with some empty bottles and glasses to keep him company.”

Ermal’s face was inscrutable, though, and Nico wondered if talking about that night was the right thing to do. But Ermal finally spoke. “I did not know that,” he said simply.

Niccolò gave a nod. “Yeah, and it was quite hilarious, too, I must admit. He looked so miserable and for the whole time he kept on repeating how sorry he was and how much he cared about you.”

E rmal managed to hid e a smile but the soft gleam within his dark eyes betrayed him and certainly didn’t miss Nico’s gaze .

“ I had never seen him like that before , I assure you . You really are important to him, Ermal. Maybe even more than you think.”

Ermal felt a whisper of warmth at his words, even though it would be utterly unthinkable to claim they came as a surprise to him. Indeed, that couldn’t be further from the truth. At this point, after all the time they had spent together and everything they had shared, there was no way he could possibly doubt whether Fabrizio really cared about him or not. The answer was clear. And perfectly clear was also what _he_ felt for Fabrizio because it was impossible to deny that, in spite of everything, he hadn’t stopped loving him. No more than a few days had passed since they last spoke and Fabrizio had explained everything, and in that seemingly brief period of time Ermal almost felt like a vague silhouette, as if he had walked from one of his books and had left behind blackness, just as if something fundamental were _missing_. In this silent ache the world was washed anew, like a new page, but Ermal didn't want it. Each of his precious memories with Fabrizio was carefully guarded and preserved as if in a bookcase in his mind, and now he just wanted to turn the pages back and dwell on the fine details: the greatest care and attention Fabrizio had showed while cooking rice and saffron for him, how he was often able to make him laugh with his poor explanations for being late, his adorable way of hiding his expression when he laughed, the few thin lines around his eyes that deepened whenever he smiled. The truth was he missed Fabrizio. Missed every little thing. And although it was him who had asked for some time, now he was more than sure that nothing good could come of this absence.

“ I know,” Ermal whispered, finally escaping from his blurry thoughts, “and he really means a lot to me, too.”

Niccolò turned and glanced at him with the corner of his eye. “So… I know it’s not about me, but maybe you could give him a second chance, no?”

The other let few moments pass before answering, “I think I’ll do it.” The hint of a delicate smile appeared on his face. “I told him I needed some time to think about what he told me, but now I guess there’s no point in waiting any longer.”

Soon, the familiar alley of tall cypresses leading to the roofless temple was to be seen on the horizon, thus making it clear to Ermal that they were almost there.

“Well, this is it,” he stated satisfied as their destination came fully into view. “What do you say? Do you like it?”

Niccolò was observing the ancient temple, completely bewitched. “Oh, wow, of course I do. T hat’s really beautiful.”

Ermal could only agree with a silent nod. That place never failed to amaze him, no matter if he had already been there or if he’d come back again other times in the future. The last rays of sunshine were playfully chasing each other through the abandoned ruins. Still, Ermal had to acknowledge that the view of the sunset was not quite as splendid as the one of the starry sky, which Fabrizio had wanted to show him so much. It could not really compare to that beauty.

“Thank you, Ermal,” said Niccolò as he let his gaze wander over that unique and lonely place. “This is exactly the kind of place I was thinking about. It’ll be perfect.” He closed his eyes briefly, smiling happily.

Ermal smiled at that. “She will love it, that’s for sure.”

“I only have to remember the way to get here, though,” Niccolò added in a lighter mood .

  
  


  
  


A quick sigh escaped Fabrizio’s lips as he finally put in order the last pot laying on the table. As he often used to say, the kitchen was the heart of the whole home, the only room that was supposed to be always clean and tidy, and consequently he was actually finishing to clean up everything when he heard some noises coming from outside. It was as if someone was getting closer to the main door, since he was fairly sure he could hear some approaching footsteps, but then they stopped abruptly, thus making him blame his tired imagination. It didn’t last long, though, for the noises began again, with more urgency this time. His first thought went to Andrea who perhaps was there because he needed something or had something to tell him. Indeed, the other Faceless Man had left his place almost immediately and was currently staying at the inn.

So Fabrizio peered through the window of his kitchen and his eyes widened inevitably when he glimpsed a mass of lovely dark curls repeatedly getting closer to his house and then rapidly moving away. The initial surprise was soon replaced by a weak and amused grin as soon as he noticed the curly head getting close enough to knock on the door and then lowering down his hand, at last. After witnessing the third attempt, Fabrizio eventually heard a knock on the door and he slowly went to open. A nd a lthough he had recognized him from the window, being faced with Ermal’s warm brown eyes wasn’t less unexpected or sudden. Only a few days had passed since Ermal had told him he needed some time alone, some time to think, and consequently Fabrizio had taken for granted that he wouldn’t have seen him before some other days at the very least, if not even much longer. Nevertheless, Ermal was just at his doorstep, look ing a little uncomfortable.

“ Hey Fabbrì,” he mumbled, avert ing his gaze for a momen t.

“Ermal… I wasn’t really expecting you,” Fabrizio stated plainly, unable to mask his surprise.

“Yeah, well, I know. But the fact is that I f igured it really makes no sense to wait that long before telling you the truth, you know? It’s better to speak frankly, I say,” Ermal said, with palpable insinuation.

Fabrizio grimaced at his bare straightforwardness, and looked at him apologetic before inviting him to come inside. Once they were sitting next to each other, Fabrizio cleared his throat a bit nervously and looked at Ermal. His heart thudded loudly in his chest. “So you did think about it? Is this what you came to tell me?”

“Yes… and I don’t need any more time.” He moved a curl behind his ear, looking right back at Fabrizio’s soulful eyes. “ Fabrizio, I really believe that we’ re building something beautiful here, so why throw it away? All things considered, everything led us to this, to what we share today. And I think that’s all that matters. Let’s just focus on this, okay?” He gave a slight smile and broke eye contact, looking down, as if shy all of a sudden.

Fabrizio remained silent for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, though his warm gaze never wavered from Ermal’s figure. And then his eyes, his lips, and his spirit all at once smiled at Ermal. Just the idea of losing him had been enough to make him realize how important he was to him and how much he loved him. Rarely before had he felt so relieved. There was still time to start laughing again, there was still time to let everything go and just live.

Slowly, so slowly, Fabrizio reached out and wrapped an arm around the other’s shoulders and it wasn’t until he was sure Ermal wouldn’t pull away that he drew him closer, caressing his hair softly. His hands were then gently folded around his back, holding him close to his chest. Ermal relaxed immediately, his eyes closing and all the tension of the last days disappearing altogether. How he had missed the precious sensation of being enfolded in Fabrizio’s warm embrace. He buried his face into the crook of the other’s neck and his light, steady breath slightly tickled Fabrizio’s skin, who moved a hand to his curls again before parting from him slowly.

Without hesitation, he took Ermal’s hand, bringing it up to his lips, and placed a sweet kiss on his palm. “Yeah, let’s focus on _this_ ,” he said with tenderness, brushing his hand with his fingertips.

Ermal ’ s mouth curled up into a fond smile and a quiet soothing warmth spread through him.

Now that they had finally talked, Ermal’s body had lost his stiff posture and he felt like breathing again. At this point, however, he had to acknowledge he was curious to know something more about Fabrizio, about the real past he had kept hidden from him , or even just some details so as to know him even better. “Fabbrì, I was wondering… since you live d in Bravoos for a long time, how is living in the Free Cities? Is it very different from Westeros?”

“Well, not that different, I’d say,” he shrugged. “Even though I can’t really say I’ve experienced life in Bravoos. What I did there was basically learn how to fight.”

“So you’re good with weapons? ”

“Yeah, yeah, you could say that,” he said, not hiding a proud smirk.

Ermal looked pensive. “ Fabbrì, do you like using a cross bow?” he asked all of a sudden.

“It’s fine, I guess, ” Fabrizio said, “ why do you ask?”

Ermal chuckled a little, “It’s just that in the Iron Islands only some captains at sea or maybe some men for hunting are able to use it. You have to be rather good in order to use it as a weapon, there.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I prefer a knife or a dagger , but a cross bow is better for long distances. It is good when fighting amidst distraction. It is all very well to be able to fire an arrow at a stationary target when you are simply training, but for a proper mission is another matter. Anyway, I’m better at using knives, ” he explained.

“Mh, I’m sure you’re not that good...” Ermal teased him with a playful smirk on his lips.

Fabrizio returned the smirk with an amused smile. “I can show you, if you want, ” he said.

When Ermal nodded, Fabrizio went into the other room and came back soon after, hiding four knives under his shirt. “Alright, but let’s go find a proper place.”

The proper place turned out to be an isolated space just in proximity of the city walls, a small corner of green with nothing around except a few trees.

“Choose a tree and I’ll show you,” Fabrizio said, taking out one of the knives.

“Ok, so… is that one too thin?” Ermal pointed at a tree on his right.

“No, no. It’ll be fine.”

Fabrizio took some steps ahead, as if he was sifting the ground until he finally found the spot at the right distance from his target. Once he found his throwing line, he took a full step back and focused on his stance, staying relaxed. He gripped the knife from its handle and then threw it at the tree with moderate force until it just ended stuck right in the middle of the tree.

Ermal’s eyes widened and Fabrizio could see the astonishment on his face. “Wow, Bizio, I’m impressed! And can you really throw straight at the target with a distraction?” Ermal’s eyes shone with playful mischief and Fabrizio knew he was planning something, but he could not resist a challenge.

“ Of course.”

He took another knife, ready to aim at another tree, more distant this time.

Fabrizio’s focus was on the target, on hitting the tree trunk. He had done it before, he had done it in several situations, and sometimes even without that silence. He wouldn’t miss the target.

He was just about to throw the knife, when he felt Ermal ’s lips brush against his cheek, soft and warm, leaving a quick kiss.

He threw the knife and lost it miserably on the ground, pretty far from the tree, actually.

“Yes, I see that you are impervious to distraction,” Ermal said laughing.

Fabrizio turned immediately towards him, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter until he burst out laughing loudly, too. He hugged him instinctively, wrapping his hands around Ermal without ceasing to laugh.

“Would you like to try, Ermal?” he asked him then.

Ermal considered the idea for a moment, before nodding with conviction.

“Use this knife, though. It’ll be easier,” explained Fabrizio, handing him a thinner knife he had brought along. “And choose a larger trunk, because it is important that you have a soft and large target if you’re not used to this. This ensures that you do not focus on accuracy but rather on working on correct rotations.”

“Ok, I’ll try with that one.”

The younger man aimed at a large tree and stood up straightly, ready to throw. And actually he did manage to throw the knife in the air, although it got to no more that two steps away, falling inevitably to the ground. Ermal stared at the knife, basically on his feet, and blinked with a perplexed and more than a little disappointed expression, while Fabrizio started to laugh again.

“Well, let’s say it’s not really my thing,” Ermal asserted, chuckling.

“No, I guess not,” the other agreed amused.

They played for a little while longer, even though to be honest it was always Fabrizio the one who threw the knives, showing Ermal how precise his technique and his throws were.

Ermal stared at the row of knives, a perfect line of shiny dots embedded in the trunk in front of him. And suddenly s omething prompted him to ask, “Is this what it was like for you?”

He heard a dim clang behind him as Fabrizio tossed one last knife aside.

“It?”

“Like none of them were real people to you .” He heard footsteps moving up behind him. He could feel Fabrizio behind his shoulder, his breath growing low er and close to his ear.

“ Yes.”

Was that sadness in his voice? Regret? Ermal observed the line of weapons before his eyes for a moment and thought about that, about what it really meant. Fabrizio didn't see him as a 'target' anymore -and maybe he never did, but nevertheless he knew what Fabrizio thought of his previous victims. Just a mission, just a name on a contract.

He turned, some of his long dark curls brushing lightly against Fabrizio in the movement, and met the other's gaze. He wasn't really sure why it was suddenly so important but it felt-- weirdly urgent .

“I'm real.”

Fabrizio looked back at him for a moment, deep and unfathomable, then his expression softened. He brushed a thumb over Ermal's cheek. “Yes.”

The tight stifling feeling in Ermal's body relaxed a little. He leaned into Fabrizio's touch, unexpectedly more exhausted than he had any right to be.

Fabrizio brought his other hand up to cradle Ermal's face and kissed him – somewhat different from usual, slow and deep. A kiss that said _sorry_ and _you're important_ and _please, forgive me_ _._

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... we're almost to the end 💓

_Siamo due gocce_

_dello stesso mare_

_ma abbiamo già trovato_

_l’ultimo amore_

Fabrizio opened the door, making it creak a little. He immediately stepped inside without realizing that Ermal was still waiting at the doorway with no intention of coming inside.

“So, I’m going home Fabbrì. I’ll see you tomorrow, mh?”

Fabrizio turned around in surprise, finally looking at him. “Oh, are you already leaving? But I can’t let you go away in such a state, don’t you think?”

He chuckled and Ermal tilted his head a little, clearly not grasping what the other meant. “What do you mean? Why?”

“Ermal, your clothes are filthy,” Fabrizio stated with amusement.

Ermal looked down on his trousers and then raised his hands so as to inspect his sleeves quickly. “Oh.”

Shortly before, at the pine grove, they both were having so much fun, so focused on throwing the knives that only now did Ermal realize his clothes were actually covered in dirt while sand and dust were scattered even in his hair.

“Well, actually we both stink, to tell the truth,” Fabrizio concluded, running a hand through his hair, and Ermal laughed, agreeing with him.

“So, what about we take a war m bath?” Fabrizio suggested.

Ermal nodded with a smile and followed the other man into a small er room next to the kitchen. However, his expression changed altogether the moment his eyes laid on the wooden tub positioned in the middle of the room.

“Wow Bizio I didn’t imagine you had such a tub at home,” his eyes had widened in surprise, which amused Fabrizio a lot.

“Well, it’s nothing special, I guess,” he laughed lightly, “here in Dorne we have a custom of thermal baths and warm baths in general, so it’s normal.”

“Oh, that’s quite different from the Iron Islands. Having a tub at your own home is not that common there actually, it’s something only captains or wealthy people can afford,” he explained, letting out a small yawn. All the tiredness accumulated in those last days began to be felt and although Ermal was doing his best to hide it, Fabrizio noticed it anyway. He smiled at him with softness before saying, “I’ll go get some water to fill the tub, you can wait here until the tub is ready.”

Ermal sat down at the kitchen table and nodded slowly. “Ok, but please call me if you want me to help you.”

Fabrizio came close to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “ It’s all right. Don’t worry. ”

As Ermal watched Fabrizio take two buckets and walk out the door, a yawn caught up to him, and he gave into i t, betraying his utter exhaustion.

Holding the buckets, Fabrizio headed towards the public well, used on a daily basis by Dornish people. He filled th em right up to the brim and came back home. It was with an amused but nevertheless warm smirk that he noticed that Ermal had now changed position, sitting with his arms crossed and his head carelessly resting on them. When hearing Fabrizio enter the room, his warm brown eyes opened and closed, his head lifted to peer at him through half-closed and Fabrizio sort of smiled. Ermal stared at him in slight co n fusion, blinking, his light eyelashes brushing against his chee k.

“Oh, are you done already?” Somehow, even speaking was making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, and his thoughts, as clear and concise as they were not so long before, were slowly falling asleep too.

“Not yet. Just w ait a little longer,” Fabrizio said, shaking his head.

He proceeded to lay a linen cloth in the bathtub and as soon as the water was poured into it, he went to the well to get some more water. And every time he came back with the filled buckets he found Ermal falling asleep a little more on the table, stubbornly struggling to remain awake even though his slow and relaxed breathing was betraying him.

A nd when Fabrizio walked over the kitchen once again, he allowed himself a couple of second s to admire the younger man basically sleeping on his table. He had f allen in love with him the way Ermal was fall ing asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

Fabrizio went to look at the almost filled tub and came to the conclusion that he only had two more buckets to fill. Finally, after going for the last time, the bathtub was ready, or rather, almost ready. As a matter of fact, on his way back he had happened to glimpse some yellow flowers, looking vaguely familiar, and it was so easy to recognize them as the same kind of flower he had used to wake up Ermal several weeks before, the morning after their trip to the roofless temple. Smiling, he had picked just one or two flowers and was now putting a few petals into the water.

The only thing left to do was wake the younger man up and hence, no more than a moment later, Fabrizio was close to Ermal, crouching down and quietly observing him from below with a look of total endearment. He seemed to be sleeping, his curly head buried in his folded arms. And just as Fabrizio was about to wake him up somehow, he raised his head slightly and his eyes opened little by little.

“Hey,” Fabrizio said gently, without ceasing to look at him, though.

“Hey…” Ermal yawned, “I suppose the bathtub is ready, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, satisfied, “ Let’s go over there before you fall asleep again, ” he winked at him.

Ermal followed Fabrizio into the other room where they were greeted by the enticing aroma of delicate soap and perfumed oils. He got closer to glance quickly at the tub and then he suddenly stopped, staring at it in complete awe. It took a second or two for his gaze to focus and fully realize, even though it was right before his eyes. Then he felt his thin lips stretch wider into a gaping grin and his eyebrows arch in elated wonder.

“Ohh but these are…” he hesitated, not immediately remembering the correct name yet somehow having it on the tip of his tongue. “ They’re _dandelion_ petals, aren’t they?”

“Exactly.” Fabrizio laughed somewhat shyly but this time it was pretty hard to hide the blatant glimmer of love within his eyes.

He cleared his throat, “The water is still very warm, let’s get in now, shall we?”

Ermal nodded in response and Fabrizio turned to his left, as if suddenly remembering something. “That reminds me… I almost forgot,” he said smirking as he took a basin full of hot fresh herbs placed near the tub. As soon as it was poured into the tub, the lovely fragrance filled the air.

They both began to take off their dirty clothes, which fell rapidly abandoned on the ground. As he was about to enter the bathtub, the very first thing that flashed across Ermal’s mind was Antonello’s amusing reaction if he were to know how his expensive fabrics were reduced right now.

When Ermal got in the tub, the warmth crawled up his skin all at once and the water enveloped him like a silky blanket. Fabrizio followed him in an instant and lean ed into the tub back wall with a long sigh.

In front of him, Ermal sighed blissfully, basking in the warm water. “Just what I needed,” he whispered.

A small smile slowly spread on Fabrizio’s face. “I agree, it’s so relaxing… by the way, are you still feeling sleepy?”

Ermal tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “ Not so much anymore. I haven't been getting much sleep lately, that's all… Well, not that I usually do anyway,” he lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, g iving a bitter laugh, “ but the last few days have been really _different_ … I missed you, Bizio.”

Fabrizio looked at him, the sweetest sadness in his eyes. He reached out so as to put his hand over Ermal’s.

“Hey, I missed you too.”

Thankfully, it managed t o ease the turmoil and sudden gloom that seemed to have fallen over the younger man, and so Ermal flipped his hand over and twined his fingers with Fabrizio’s.

Then, taking a nice smelling chipped bar of soap, Fabrizio started to rub his skin, whereas Ermal brought his arms up to rest them on the tub edges. He briefly allowed his eyes to fall on the lines of Fabrizio’s chest and on the well defined black tattoos on his skin, he looked at the small sun on his arm before shifting his attention to the roses, until he huffed and tore his gaze away. Fabrizio continued his scrubbing, lathering his body somewhat hurriedly and then tossing some water over himself. He lent the bar of soap to Ermal while he continued to wash his body with a very soft sponge, wiping away the remainder of dirt there.

As he started to wash himself, Ermal coul d n’t help but notice a n interesting set of scented oil containers and he absentmindedly wondered which one was Fabrizio’s favourite, the one making that unique good smell of his. And it was in that moment that Fabrizio opened one of those containers, pouring a little amount on his hand to wash his hair rapidly.

The younger man took some water in his hands and ran them through his curls, so as to wet them. However, just as he was about to do it again, he got interrupted by Fabrizio’s voice which appeared oddly shy. “Ermal, can I… can I help you with it?”

Ermal blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Sure, you can.”

Fabrizio’s lips curved into a smile. “ Come over here then. I’ll do it for you, ” he told him, making some space in the tub for him to sit right in front of him.

Ermal shifted from his position and moved close r, with his back towards Fabrizio.

“Do you really like my hair so much?” he couldn’t help but ask, amused .

Fabrizio’s eyebrows raised a little and a hand went to affectionately caress those lovely curls. “Like it? I love it! I want it, ” he chuckled.

Ermal shook his head, not quite believing his words. “Why, it’s –such a hassle,” he giggled. But even though Fabrizio could not actually see his face, he knew the other man was hiding a smile.

He took a cup from beside the tub, scooped it in the water and then poured it slowly over Ermal’s head.

“Fabbrì, do you actually use all those different oils for your hair?”

Fabrizio laughed, “No, not at all. I bought some of them but none seems to work properly with my hair, as you can notice. ” He sounded so resigned that Ermal was about to burst out laughing. “ That’s because you’re an old man,” he teased him playfully , making Fabrizio laugh, too.

“Yeah yeah… anyway, I think I have the right oil, perfect for your hair,” he said with a smirk.

An amber coloured oil was poured into his hands and suddenly the sweet scent of honey filled the room, thus making the atmosphere even more cozy.

Ermal closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “ It’s honey.”

“Honey and jasmine petals, yes. Do you like it?”

Ermal nodded a few times , breathing that delicious air. Some drops of oil met his hair and Fabrizio began to massage the scalp slowly, rubbing in circles before smoothing the fragrance from the roots to the ends of his hair.

With closed eyes, Ermal’s breathing was calm and steady and he seeped in the moment, allowing himself to relax completely under Fabrizio's touch. He felt all the love and carefulness with which he was taking care of him, calmly concentrating on every curl, although unable to resist the urge to wrap some of the longer ones around his finger. Yet, even more perceptible to Ermal was Fabrizio’s most delicate carefulness in avoiding to touch his scarred back in every way.

Ermal could easily imagine Fabrizio focused, washing his hair with shattered thoughts, careful to not even brush against his back in the process.

Needless to say, after finding out Fabrizio’s real past, it took Ermal a while to be able to trust Fabrizio as much as he did before since he wanted to ensure that Fabrizio actually deserved it, and now that the other man’s careful hands and half smile were enveloping him silently, now he was more certain than ever.

Fabrizio pressed a quick kiss on his shoulder as he finished to massage his hair.

“Go down a little, please.”

Ermal hummed appreciatively as he sank further into the tub, his toes fanning out underneath the water, the warmth seeping into his bones. Fabrizio poured some water over his head to rinse his hair thoroughly. Running his hands through those curls, Fabrizio’s fingers got suddenly stuck in a knot in his hair.

“Oh, I’m quite used to that,” Ermal sighed, a little annoyed, “let me handle this.”

“You don’t have to, I can do it. We only have to use this.” He withdrew his hand to turn and stretch enough to reach something.

“Mh?”

“Wait, wait… here it is!” Fabrizio exclaimed as he found the object he was looking for hidden in a small container on the ground.

Ermal’s eyes widened as he saw the c arved wooden comb the other man was holding, however, to Fabrizio’s disappointed, they w ere n’t staring at the comb with pleasant surprise as he would expect but wi th skepticism.

“And what are you doing with a comb, Bizio?” his forehead had furrowed, as if wordlessly implying it would clearly be to no use for Fabrizio’s hair.

Fabrizio blinked rapidly , surely not expecting the younger man to be so utterly oblivious.

“Well, I certainly can’t do much with it.” A moment went by, and Fabrizio wondered how long Ermal would take to figure it out by himself. “I bought it for you, Ermal. As a gift.”

When Ermal took a deep breath, his chest lifted and a timid “Oh ” escaped his thin lips. At least, n ow startling joy did shimmer in his brown eyes.

“Thank you, Fabbrì,” he said, causing Fabrizio to giggle.

Fabrizio drew the comb near to the roots of his hair. “I’ll be gentle, Ermal, I promise.”

Slowly, he began to untangle the knots with even more skill and patience than Ermal thought.

The water was still quite hot, with the steam rising and making whitish little clouds around the room and dancing around the young man , caressing his pale skin.

Ermal relaxed with half-lidded eyes and his breath was calm and easy as Fabrizio combed his shoulder hair patiently, carefully, making himself sure not to pull it at all .

Sooner than expected , he managed to comb through all his long curls and soon, his hair was smooth and honey scented.

“Done!” he stated proudly, put ting the comb on the ground near the bathtub.

Satisfied, he p ressed a soft kiss on Ermal’s hair.

“My hair is not an easy task, I know. Thank you Fabbrì, ” he told him gently, moving away from Fabrizio so that they could actually get out of the tub.

Fabrizio got up first and Ermal left the water just when the other man enveloped him with a soft towel .

Once they both were finally ready, Fabrizio went to his bedroom and came back soon after with clean clothes for Ermal who immediately wore them, although they were undoubtedly a little too large for him.

“So… ” Ermal started at the doorway, “thank you for my first experience with knife-throwing and also thanks for-- ” Fabrizio leaned in and kissed him on the lips before he could finish his sentence.

As they parted, Ermal smiled, his eyes sparkling.

“See you tomorrow?” Fabrizio asked.

“Yes.” He got a little closer to him, just enough to give him a little kiss on the corner of his lips. “Good night, Bizio.”

  
  


  
  


It wasn’t until a few days later that it occurred to Fabrizio that it had been too long for his liking since he'd enjoyed Ermal’ s company at dinner. He really wanted to cook something for him and the day they both had finished work ing earlier than expected, he took the opportunity to invite him over for dinner. The only problem was, he was running out of supplies at home and he had no time to go and buy something.

“Do you want me to help you somehow, Fabbrì?” Ermal asked him with a smile, even though he already knew the answer and hence was sitting down at the table, comfortably waiting as the other man finished to prepare their dinner.

“No, I’m almost done here. And besides, I told you I wanted to cook something since the only thing I’ve prepared for you is saffron risotto. But--,” he grimaced.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that today we have to settle for the few things I have at home. No special Dornish recipe this time,” Fabrizio replied, giggling.

He turned, putting two filled dishes on the table, “I hope fish will be just fine,” he told him, finally sitting down next to him.

“It’s perfect.”

Fabrizio eyed him closely for a moment. “Aren’t you tired to eat fish? I mean, you told me you’ve been eating fish your entire life, basically. I presume you’ve had enough of it,” he stated, genuinely curious.

That really was unexpected and Ermal couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Well, yes, that’s pretty much true, you’re right, the entire cousine of the Ironmen is based on fish. But I really don’t mind it now.”

Then he shrugged and an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “ _Everything_ is so much better here.”

He looked meaningly at Fabrizio, who smiled softly at him and leaned nearer , so that a hand was close enough to caress Ermal’s hair.

“And anyway, you can always make me some o ther Dornish delicacies some other time, can’t you? We’l l have plenty of time for that, actually,” he smirked.

Admittedly, h e was not particularly fond of fish, a nd yet, even if this time it wasn’t a remarkable dish, Ermal had another chance to confirm that Fabrizio was a very skilled cook.

“How is it that you can make even fish taste like… well – something tastier than fish?” he asked as they ate.

“That’s what one would expect from a cook, no?” At first, Fabrizio didn’t seem to take it too seriously a nd he laughed somewhat embarrassed, but then he could no longer hold back a grateful, pleased smile. “But thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

He poured two glasses of wine, a peculiar kind Niccolò had highly suggested to taste. “Actually, to tell you the truth, it’s been a while since I’ve cooked something for someone else other than myself. I think I haven’t enjoyed cooking so much for years,” the words came out on their own, as if even Fabrizio hadn’t fully realized it until this moment. “So many things have changed.”

Ermal looked up at him, his bright eyes reflecting exactly what Fabrizio’s words had implied. Wordlessly, his gaze paused on Fabrizio’s face, his thin lips curving in a smile. Not many words needed to be spoken between them.

“Everything is different with you,” Fabrizio continued, “Knowing you has been such an intense and unexpected experience.”

Ermal swallowed. The simplicity with which Fabrizio always managed to express his feelings for him never failed to make his head dizzy and his heartbeat quicken a little. He should have been used to it by now, yet, every time the other man conveyed such deep words in such an easy way, it was as if every ounce of breath was taken from him.

Ermal cocked his head to the side. “Is it so different from before?” he asked him simply, eager to know more about him.

“Yeah, definitely. Before knowing you, the only one I’ve loved was my son’s mother. After her, there was nothing serious.”

Ermal smiled softly. Realizing that he was falling in love with Fabrizio more and more with each passing day came so natural to him, and he couldn’t think of a time he had been happier.

It was by now unsurprising as each time Ermal and Fabrizio were together, they found themselves losing track of time. And so, in what felt like a heartbeat, they were done eating and Fabrizio drank the last sip of wine.

“Next time I want you to taste another traditional meal, though,” Fabrizio said in an enthusiastic tone once they were standing at his open doorway. “I’ve already got something special in mind, but I’m not sure of what I should buy. I’ll have to remember the specific ingredients...” he shrugged, utter ing more to himself, as if simply thinking out loud.

Ermal was silent. In that moment he knew that if he spoke, h is words would fumble and he wouldn't even be able to make his usual witty remarks.

“Then good night, Ermal.”

Fabrizio leaned closer to him and was about to kiss him goodbye when he stopped, perceiving that Ermal had become oddly serious and quiet all of a sudden. Right there and then, Ermal seemed to be at a loss for everything; no words, no thoughts. The only thing that came out of his mouth at that moment was his name, and even then it came out shaky and quiet. “Fabbrì...”

Fab rizio felt slightly confused. “Yeah? What’s wrong? ”

The faint glimmer of the evening sun ghosted over Ermal’s pale skin and eyes as rich as mahogany. And when those very eyes shifted and finally stared back at Fabrizio , a surge of warmth managed to calm him and ma ke him somewhat dizzy at the same time.

“W e don’t have to say goodbye… I might as well stay,” he said with a hint of shyness.

Realization hit Fabrizio and he drew in a long breath.

Of course you can stay…” he swallowed. “ Are you sure?”

“Yes.” This time there wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his voice.

Ermal closed the door behind him and took a step back inside. His lips immediately searched Fabrizio’s, kissing him slowly while the other placed his hands on the younger man’s waist, holding him close.

Although Fabrizio’s lips were able to steal all his thoughts at any time, now, with the added rush of emotions and undeniable vulnerability surging up, being in Fabrizio’s arms like this, it brought all of Ermal’s remaining walls crumbling to dust, leaving him awash with anticipation and a hint of curiosity.

Fabrizio broke the kiss and eyed him for a moment. “Are you really sure?” he asked for the second time in few minutes, “We don’t have to, if you--”

“Yes, Fabbrì, I’m sure. But I can leave right now if you want me to,” he blurted out, pretending to be offended.

“Oh, no no. That’s definitely not going to happen.” He smiled and his hand went to play with Ermal’s hair, letting his fingers entangle with those lovely curls, messing playfully with them before brushing them from his face with a caress. And another kiss was placed on his lips. Fabrizio closed his eyes for a moment, before gently cupping Ermal’s face in his hand and brushing his thumb on his cheek. Ermal turned his head slightly to place a soft kiss on Fabrizio’s palm.

“Let’s move into the other room, though,” Fabrizio told him gently as he grabbed his fingertips and started to guide him to his bedroom.

Once there, Fabrizio left Emal’s hand just to turn, standing right behind his figure. He put his arms around his narrow waist, hugging him from behind before leaving a quick kiss on his hair. Then his lips lowered slowly, just barely lower with each delicate kiss, until he was completely focused on tracing a trail of lazy kisses all over his neck. His hands were trembling just slightly as they worked open the buttons of Ermal’s shirt, and he finally managed to take it off, little by little, making the cloth brush lightly against his bare skin, unveiling Ermal like the most precious of treasures.

Like a shadow, the white shirt eventually fell on the ground, thus leaving no more than Fabrizio’s kisses to cover Ermal. Eventually, he ignored his neck, moving his lips lower, where he calmly placed a lingering, light kiss on his scars.

For a fleeting moment, Ermal barely winced at the touch, but then his eyes closed briefly and his body relaxed altogether, his chest rising and falling with calm breaths as the other man continued with so much sweetness that Ermal could feel familiar warmth kindling in his chest. And Fabrizio proceeded to kiss every single one of them, one by one, his lips gracing every pale, broken line and every visible mark.

Only after Fabrizio’s lips had patiently finished caressing his back, did Ermal turn around and finally face him. Cupping his face with his hands, he leaned in, bringing their mouths together. It started as a soft kiss, a mere brush of their lips, and it deepened slowly. Ermal tried to unbutton Fabrizio shirt as well, but due to trembling hands, he seemed to struggle a little with it. Fabrizio smiled into their kiss and broke it, just to be able to get undressed a bit faster.

Tentatively, Ermal let his hand travel down Fabrizio’s bare chest, as the other’s hand shifted from his cheek to his soft curls. Without withdrawing his hands from him, Ermal sat on the edge of the bed and then leaned his back down, taking Fabrizio down with him.

Fabrizio did not wait long before kissing his lips again, making Ermal immediately melt into the kiss and respond eagerly, shivers tickling his skin when he felt Fabrizio's hand creep up his side and caress his waist.

A small smirk fell on Ermal’s thin lips and he started to let his own hands wander over Fabrizio’s skin, mostly tracing nonsense patterns against heated skin. He just took his time exploring, leisurely, unhurriedly, with the realization he could have spent hours simply discovering Fabrizio’s skin.

Kissing the base of his neck, Fabrizio gently scratched a line with his fingernails over his stomach and around his sides, causing Ermal to twitch in response, all of a sudden.

“Oh,” Fabrizio pulled back from where he had been kissing, and raised his head enough to look at Ermal. “Ticklish, are we?”

The younger man threw his arm over his eyes and groaned, feigning annoyance. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

Fabrizio smirked and ran his fingers over his stomach once again, teasing his skin with the ends of his fingernails. He tickled him in earnest then, taking great delight in the beautiful sound of Ermal’s clear laughter echoing in the room. When he finally stopped, he was instantly taken aback by how open and adoringly Ermal was looking at him. His pupils were dilated, his eyes shiny and bounded by pale lashes, and his breath was coming quick and short. Fabrizio leaned up and kissed him again.

Ermal smirked amused, though. “Don’t you think I won’t take revenge, Bizio,” he warned him brightly as he sat up and rested his palms on Fabrizio’s chest. Notwithstanding the playful hint in his tone, his fingers suggested something entirely different, though. With draining slowness, Ermal started to caress his tanned skin, mapping out every angle and curve with the tip of his fingers, as if his fingers had forgotten what the other felt like. And the initial caresses preluded the traces of all the tattoos colouring his skin. His curls fell over his eyes as he carefully painted every figure with his fingertips, drawing every blackish line, following the contours of each detail. He leaned even closer, until the ends of his hair could brush against Fabrizio’s tattoos, thus creating a blur of undefined, blackish lines.

“I really like this one here,” he said, touching lightly the skull with the rose on the other’s chest. And Fabrizio smiled as he watched him trace the petals of the rose before eventually focusing on the lines of the skull.

“And I,” he started, catching Ermal’s full attention, “I love your hands.” He took Ermal’s other hand and kissed the knuckle of each finger. It was not quite enough, though, so he began to kiss the pad of each finger as well.

He felt the younger man lean forward. Soft kisses were suddenly brushed over his eyelids, at his cheekbones, the corner of his mouth. And between one kiss and another, Ermal stopped only to admire Fabrizio's face, taking in his dishevelled hair, the slight freckles on his nose Ermal would have kissed one by one, the bristly beard that adorned his flawless features.

Then Fabrizio inched forward and caught Ermal’s lips in a deep, slow kiss before pulling back a little and meeting his eyes.

“Ermal,” Fabrizio murmurs in a low voice, one hand tangled in Ermal’s hair and the other still flat on the bed, “where do you want to take this?”

He inclined his head a little, putting several inches of space between their faces; he was staring at him expectantly, waiting. Ermal could feel Fabrizio’s attention settling solely on him, heavy and light at the same time. He closed his eyes and caught his breath briefly, before opening them again and gazing at Fabrizio. His expression was so soft and fond that Fabrizio would have kissed him straight away. However, it was Ermal who untangled Fabrizio’s hand from his curls and softly brushed the skin on Fabrizio’s palm. He brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles softly, keeping it pressed to his mouth for a long minute.

“What do you think?” he asked him in return, freeing Fabrizio’s hand. There was the start of a knowing smile lighting up in his eyes before it played around his lips.

Fabrizio drew his lower lip between his teeth. That was enough for him to understand. His hand touched Ermal’s chest, then moving slowly lower and lower until it was stopped by the fabric of Ermal’s pants. He looked up at the younger man, without averting the gaze, while unfastening his pants slowly. A long breath escaped Ermal’s lips and he let his head fall back as his pants finally ended up on the floor. Fabrizio stole a moment to really look at him, at those long curls scattered on the pillow and before his eyes, at his pale skin, and his rosy lips.

“Will you stop staring at me?”

“You’re beautiful,” is what he said instead, with such ease and affection that Ermal nearly wanted to melt under it.

Ermal did not reply, though, but only raised his hand so as to try to brush his hair from his face. Fabrizio could not quite tell based on the rapidly changing expression on Ermal’s face, but he was pretty sure the other man was fighting hard to accept the compliment without protest.

Kissing him again, Fabrizio let his hands caress Ermal’s waist and then run over the curve of his hips while Ermal’s hands rubbed his back with unhurried movements.

“Wait, wait,” Ermal said with a short laugh.

Fabrizio looked at him questioningly, but Ermal quickly silenced him with other caresses, drawing long circles on his back, making his way down to his pants in order to take them off. Fabrizio was so caught up in the moment, he had almost forgotten that he was actually still half dressed.

And soon after, Ermal circled his fingers over Fabrizio’s shoulder, and moved his hands down his arms. His hands went to his chest and travelled down to his sides, with the mere purpose of memoris ing every aspect of Fabrizio’s body and how it felt under his touch.

Ermal’s arms moved around Fabrizio’s neck, eager and impatient as he was to completely cancel the little distance that was separating them. He placed a line of warm kisses on his neck, while his long, pale fingers ghosted freely over his stomach.

Ermal’s mouth was soft on the side of his neck, and those lazy kisses would have certainly continued much longer if Fabrizio had not placed a pale kiss on the space near Ermal’s ear, licking his earlobe and making the other man stop and lean into his touch.

Their hands and lips continued to explore parts of skin which had been hidden until now, and soon, the embarrassment had passed for both of them.

Laying him down gently, Fabrizio placed his lips on his jawline and on the pale collarbones, then slowly descending down to the sternum and to his stomach, where he lingered for a while. When he started kissing the inside of his thighs, Ermal drew in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a moment, his breath growing low and irregular. Fabrizio came back to kiss his lips, taking his lower lip between his teeth, before descending once again.

His hands moved slowly at first, in measured, almost hesitant touches, then they started moving again on their own accord, stroking over Ermal’s sensitive skin. His attention inevitably switched from watching his own actions and admiring the expressions of pleasures depicted on Ermal’s face, the quiet moans and shaky breaths that escaped his mouth.

It was far too easy, Ermal realized soon after, letting himself be completely swept away.

Having Fabrizio’s bare chest pressing against his, their legs tangling together as they kept kissing, deep and slow. His own hands were stroking up and down Fabrizio’s broad back, gently exploring, and Ermal loved it—loved the heat and touch and the simple, mind-blowing intimacy of being close to Fabrizio like this. He didn’t know anything about love, he only knew _Fabrizio_ ; he was the boundary of his skin, and beyond that, nothing else mattered.

Unexpectedly, Ermal interrupted the kisses and the caresses, and rose on his elbows. There was an inexplicable look within Ermal’s eyes that surprised Fabrizio, but he did not have enough time to ponder before Ermal finally pulled away from his hands and flipped them, so that Fabrizio was lying on his back, the fresh sheets a strong contrast with his sweaty back. He yelped, a bit taken aback, but a knowing smile fell on his lips when Ermal’s weight bore down on him.

It wasn’t long before everything became so overwhelming, that Fabrizio’s breath was coming short, his limbs weakening with every movement Ermal made. He stared at him, willing to capture every expression on Ermal’s face while he moved, holding himself on to Fabrizio’s chest with his fingers, his thin lips parted with pleasure and his eyes watery.

At a certain point Emal started to breathe only his name, “ _Fabrizio_ ,” a whisper limned in the softest voice, and Fabrizio fell in love, all over again, with Ermal, who was the greatest dream among the truest dreams.

  
  


  
  


The following morning Ermal awoke to soft sheets and the morning light trickling in through the windows.

His eyelids opened gradually, trembling a little, somehow unwilling to wake up properly. In a few minutes he’d be certainly able to greet the sunlight, but for now it could hopefully come with the subtleness of a gentle dawn and let him doze sluggishly for a little while longer.

He wanted a moment to shed the sleep from his brain, to allow the visions of the night to give way to the day, to move from that quiet drowsiness to things more fixed and real. _Real_ as was the presence of Fabrizio still sleeping next to him. The corners of Ermal’s lips curved into a smile as he looked at the sleeping man and vivid memories of the night before lighted up before his eyes . Everything was still there in the haziness of Ermal’s mind.

Ermal turned slightly to observe him silently. Aside from Fabrizio’s calm breath there was nothing to be heard. In the wash of the new light, his face took on the appearance of a painting, one surely created by one of the most skilled artists of Westeros. Ermal watched as it brought his skin into focus, although not yet animated with his warmth.

The morning light cast soft shadows over his face, the fan of his lashes resting feather light on his cheeks. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, still immersed in a realm of dreams, his breath slow and regular. It wasn’t until Ermal lightly brushed his cheek with his fingers, that his eyes opened slowly.

Upon waking, Fabrizio burrowed himself into the warm, soft sheets. He rubbed the remainders of sleep from his eyes and gazed out at Ermal smiling next to him.

“Hey,” Fabrizio murmured and his face brightened immediately at the sight .

“Sorry Fabbrì, I didn’t have yellow flowers to wake you up,” Ermal said, lift ing his shoulder in a half shrug.

Fabrizio blinked and burst out laughing, lightheartedly. “Well, I certainly can’t complain.” His fingers caressed Ermal’s face, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.

In the morning there was more deep sweetness that resonate d within and found a way to express itself. Love was a caress inspired by dawn. It was the lazy sound of the other’s breath.

“Did you sleep well, _amore_ ?”

Ermal nodde d quickly and the n looked at him with a somewhat confused expression. “ Amore ?” He repeated, trying to mimic the accent. “What does it mean?”

“It means love.”

“ Oh.” A smile danced onto Ermal’s lips.

Gentle fingers began to trace Fabrizio’s neck and collarbone, over and over again, until he stopped to kiss him on the lips. Fabrizio waited a moment before breaking the kiss, moving slightly closer with a smirk.

“My turn.” He whispered, leaning down a little.

And Ermal gasped as Fabrizio began to trail small, slow kisses down his chest. Fabrizio brought his lips up to Ermal’s again, and kissed him.

Snuggling closer, Ermal laid his head on Fabrizio’s chest, his curls tickling the other’s skin, and simply stayed there, silently focusing on Fabrizio’s chest rising and falling slowly, and on Fabrizio’s thoughts that taste d of wine .

“Ermal,” Fabrizio spoke after a while, making the other man rise his head enough to look at him.

“Yeah?

“ Are you alright? Did I… hurt you?”

Ermal couldn’t help but smile softly , shaking his head a little. “I’m fine, Fabrì.” He kissed him deeply, dark brown eyes shutting once more. Then he buried his face in Fabrizio’s neck, breaking the kiss.

Fabrizio closed his eyes, overwhelmed, feeling so purely _happy_. His soft lips brushed over Ermal’s dark curls, lingering there to place a kiss. It was the perfect description of time, all space in a single fragment.

“What about I go make some breakfast?” Fabrizio asked him after a few minutes.

Ermal nodded in agreement, with a smirk on his lips. “I’d say it’s a great idea.”

“All right then.”

Placing one last quick kiss on his hair, Fabrizio rose slowly, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Without paying too much attention about it, he chose some random clothes from his closet, and put them on.

“I’ll be back quickly,” he smiled , turning towards Ermal.

Ermal decided to just linger in bed a little longer, with his feet tangled in the warm sheets and his curls all over the pillow. Slowly, he pulled himself up to a half sitting position and reached out for his pants lying on the ground. His white shirt, instead, was nowhere to be seen. It had presumably fallen under the bed, therefore Ermal got up and tried to retrieve it. And just like that, along with his shirt he found a curio u s object which had finished down there. At a closer sight, Ermal assumed it was a small musical instrument of some sort, consisting of multiple pipes of gradually increasing length.

“Ermal, it’s almost ready!” Fabrizio took some steps closer as he recognized what Ermal was holding and observing with such interest. “Oh, where did you find it?”

“It was under the bed, actually,” he said without hiding his amusement.

“Ah, so that's where it's been all this time,” Fabrizio laughed.

Ermal turned around a few times, inspecting it. “It’s for music, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Fabrizio nodded, “It’s a pan flute, to be exact.”

“I had no idea you were able to play,” Ermal stated with a surprised smile.

“Well, it’s not that difficult, really, and to be honest, it’s just a pastime I bought some years ago to play when I feel like it.”

“Could you play it now?” Ermal asked him with interest.

“Sure.”

When Fabrizio was sitting on the bed next to him, Ermal gave him the instrument and listened with enthusiasm to every sound Fabrizio played.

“Do you like it?”

“ Mmmh, i t has undoubtedly a peculiar sound but… yes, I like it,” he said, convinced.

“I didn’t imagine you were interested in music, Ermal,” Fabrizio said, putting a rebellious curl behind Ermal’s ear.

“Well, yes, more or less. It has always fascinated me, but I don’t know much about it.” He gave a half shrug with a slightly sad smile.

Fabrizio reached out an d put his hand over Ermal’s. He drew his lips cl ose to his own and kissed him deeply.

“C’mon, let’s go eat something, now. ”

“ Only if it’s not fish again,” Ermal joked, making Fabrizio laugh.

“I promise it’s not fish!” he chuckled.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we're -already- at the end, aren't we...? Enjoy the epilogue! ❤️

_Non basta una canzone_

_per poterti dire_

_tutto quello che io che sento_

_It was always a pleasure for Ermal to read the starting line of an adventure, to read atlases packed with a wealth of reference information, to read time-worn chronicles of illustrious figures… well, just to read._

_That day, it was late in the afternoon when Ermal seemed to be occupied with reading a rather interesting historical book, dealing with anecdotes of old wars and descriptions of different cultures. He was comfortably sitting alone by the window, an arm rested on his knee, while the other held the book;_ when he noticed Fabrizio walking towards him with a pleased smile on his lips.

“What are you reading with so much interest?” he asked him casually.

“It’s a book Antonello found and gave me some months ago… old habits don’t change,” a soft smile played on his lips. “It deals with the history of the first Targaryens, interesting, but to tell the truth I’m getting quite tired, now…” he closed the book, after rubbing his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. “More importantly, what are you hiding behind your back with so much effort?” he asked him curiously.

Of course he had not missed the playful smirk that was seen to dwell in the happy expression of Fabrizio’s twinkling eyes.

“Well, I was thinking that maybe this is the right time to put away that book and focus on this, instead...”

Before Ermal could even reply something, Fabrizio showed him what he had been hiding and Ermal’s eyes immediately widened in wonder. It was a plucked stringed instrument with a long neck bearing frets and a rounded body.

“It’s a… a lute?”

“Yes,” Fabrizio nodded, “When you saw my pan flute you were so enthusiastic and fascinated by it that I wanted to gift you something similar.”

Ermal just stared at the lute as the reality of what Fabrizio had just said sank in slowly. “Really…? You really bought it for me?” he asked with an unmistakable blend of wonder and joy.

When Fabrizio merely nodded with a smile, Ermal abruptly stood up from his chair. “I have no words…” his gaze finally shifted from the instrument to Fabrizio’s face, “Thank you so much, Fabrì, really.” Gratitude glowed in his brown bright eyes. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms behind Fabrizio’s neck, pulling him in for a long, deep kiss.

“The moment I heard its sound, I knew it was the perfect instrument for you,” Fabrizio whispered against Ermal’s lips.

“I can’t wait to learn how to play it… Tomorrow I’ll go ask Antonello if he can find some books about music, or I could also go to the market for some music sheets,” Ermal reasoned, full of enthusiasm.

Fabrizio could not help but smile as he looked at the younger man: Ermal was beaming, barely able to contain his happiness.

“I have no doubt that you will learn to play wonderfully,” he told him, putting his arms around the other’s waist before placing a soft kiss on his hair.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


The playful breeze of the morning seeped through the open window; puffs of wind coming inside, as changeable and playful as a child. They blew Ermal’s hair about in wild disorder and made the papers fly around the bedroom. Ermal brushed a wisp of hair away from his face and sighed for the umpteenth time that morning. Suspending and continuing it a bit later would probably have been better, but Ermal was running out of time and was therefore determinate to finish writing the letter as quickly as possible. He had spent minutes, hours, thinking about the right words to use, a little unsure of what to say, but eventually he had come to the conclusion that he’d have to keep it simple, easy and _sincere_. It started with:

  
  


> _Dearest Rinald,_
> 
> _I know this letter will come as a bewildering surprise to you, but I wanted you to know that I am safe, although far away, …_

  
  


Two days before, Ermal had seen Antonello talking with his trustworthy quartermaster and men sweating in the hot air as they hauled trunks of cargo from the warehouse to the hold of the ship. Noticing Niccolò standing right there, Ermal had walked towards him to ask him where they were headed.

“Hey Niccolò, are you about to sail?”

Niccolò nodded, hiding a yawn, “Yeah, we’ve been loading the ship since this morning...”

“And where are you headed this time?”

“The Captain has some goods to trade with the Iron Islands, so we’re going to Pyke,” he explained.

Niccolò’s words took Ermal back to the Iron Islands. Taking a rapid glance at the cargo, he saw that in an open trunk was some jewelry and also a familiar kind of kitchenware used in the northern regions of Westeros - a reminder of the life that dwelled in the Iron Islands. The only reason Ermal had to miss that place was Rinald. Just by thinking of him, Ermal smiled sadly as if he could still hear his brother’s laughter when he could spend time with him. Nostalgia came like an anchor to his feet. Almost a year had by now passed since he last saw Rinald and had left Pyke Isle. However, after thinking about how much time had passed, it also came to his mind for the first time that it should not be considered as a goodbye, on the contrary, now there were high chances that they’d meet again, someday. Judging by what Antonello had reported several months before, the situation in the Iron Islands had already improved considerably. Even though it was still too early and imprudent for him to meet with Rinald, Ermal figured he could at least let him know that he was alive and safe.

“Ermal, is everything alright?” Niccolò asked him a bit worriedly, noticing the other man had become silent all of a sudden.

“Yes, don’t worry… actually, I was thinking if you could do something for me,” Ermal started, “Would you deliver a letter for me? It’s something… confidential.”

Niccolò nodded, “Of course I’ll do it. You’ll tell me everything in detail when you give me the letter. We’ll set sail within three days.”

“Sure, thanks. Will you take other destinations or will you come right back?” Ermal asked him.

Niccolò’s grimace expressed his slight displeasure. “Honestly, I don’t know yet. I hope we’ll come back soon because when we return I’m going to ask my girlfriend to marry me,” he said with a smile.

Ermal’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, that’s great to hear, Niccolò!” he exclaimed happily.

Right before leaving the dock, Ermal had seen Antonello raise his hand in greeting towards him. Then, he had headed back home, looking forward to writing that letter.

Now that he was finishing the last lines, Ermal tried to imagine his brother’s face when he’d finally read it, how relieved he’d be to hear from him at last. Satisfied, Ermal put down the quill pen and let out a long sigh. He turned just in time to see Fabrizio slowly waking up in the bed behind him, and so he moved towards him. The sunrays entering from the window was illuminating half of Fabrizio’s face, accentuating the few freckles on his nose. Ermal smiled, thinking that ever since meeting Fabrizio, the morning light had more colours.

After a yawn _,_ Fabrizio opened his eyes slowly and smiled when he saw Ermal sitting next to him.

“Good morning,” Ermal whispered softly.

Instead of replying, Fabrizio took his hand and kissed his palm.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, no. What were you doing?”

Ermal jerked his head in the direction of the desk before saying, “I wrote the letter for my brother… I can’t wait to see him again. I hope it’ll be possible, somehow.”

Now, things had quieted down enough that delivering a letter to Rinald was not too dangerous anymore. Ermal was aware that with a little patience and carefulness he’d be able to see him again, but nevertheless, he yearned for that day.

“I can imagine,” Fabrizio said, “I’m sure he’ll come here in Sunspear, someday. And I’m sure it’ll happen sooner than you think.”

With a slow and delicate gesture, Fabrizio moved some curls from his face, chasing away unhappy thoughts, too. Ermal exhaled, basking in his touch.

“Stay in bed a little longer, I’ll go make us something for breakfast,” Ermal told him, standing up.

Fabrizio raised an eyebrow. “Ohh, how is it that roles have switched?” he said with a knowing smirk on his lips.

Ermal was silent for a moment, before he laughed, drawing his lower lip between his teeth with a glint in his eyes. He was perfectly aware that Fabrizio wasn’t referring only to the breakfast, but actually to the night before.

“I love you, Fabrì,” Ermal said simply, leaning forward to take Fabrizio’s lips in a sweet kiss.

“I love you, too,” Fabrizio held him close to press another kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Stay here a moment,” Ermal said, standing up, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

However, Fabrizio managed to grab his hand just before Ermal walked away. “Wait a moment.”

Ermal tilted his head a little, looking at him.

“Would you play something for me?” Fabrizio asked him.

Ermal melted in a smile. “Of course. I still have a lot left to learn, though,” he chuckled.

From the moment Fabrizio had given him the lute, Ermal had spent every day learning how to play it. And every time he could not sleep, he made good use of his sleepless nights, taking his beloved lute and plucking some notes. Sometimes, he even wrote down some words that he couldn't get off his head, words that would soon turn into songs. In those weeks he had learnt to love the sound of the lute even more, its ravishing tone made it extremely captivating as well as enormously versatile, and the peculiar resonance of its body gave the sound of the lute a delicacy and richness which did not stop to amaze Ermal.

Taking the lute, Ermal sat on the bed, close to Fabrizio and noticed that the other man was rising on his elbows to better look at him. It was hardly surprising that most of the things he wrote inevitably contained a piece of Fabrizio. The love he felt for him was unlike anything else; like a feather inside of him, it moved at every breathe.

“What do you want to hear?”

Fabrizio folded his hands in his lap. “Whatever you want, _amore_.”

“Well, this is something I wrote just yesterday.”

His fingertips began to pluck the lute.

And so he played.

_Se ci fosse anche per me_  
_Una carezza per ogni mio errore_  
_Avrei un cuore bellissimo, sì,_

_Senza un graffio e senza nemmeno paure_  
_Ma l'amore che spacca le ossa non lascia ferita_  
_E ti ripaga per tutte le volte che hai perso la strada_

_E se ci provi a pensare e non è poi così male_  
_E c'è poco in fondo da capire_  
_E io che provo a spiegare_

_Cosa muove le cose_  
_Ma l'ossigeno non è respirare_  
_Non hai un cuore bellissimo, sì_  
_L'hai consumato di gioia_

_Ma ne è valsa la pena_  
_E l'amore che spacca le ossa_  
_Non lascia nessuna ferita_

_L'amore che ci resta_  
_Che ci resta_

_Tutto quello che ci resta_

_è una candela accesa_

_fra me e te_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing 70,000 words turned out to be harder than I thought as well as more fascinating and rewarding than I could have ever imagined.  
> My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has read this story and to everyone who will.  
> Special thanks to JuliaBaggins and her super long, lovely comments.  
> Thanks to my best friend, Asia... even though you’re a really slow reader (NonodiarmiIloveu 🥰).  
> Needless to say, thanks to our two adorable dorks: Ermal and Fabrizio (well, Niccolò, too) who made these characters possible.  
> Last but not least, a huge thank you to JokerSmiles, my amazing Beta and-- my sister. From giving life to the story in the first place, to putting up with my regular angst ideas (so che aspetti il Bingo), to deal with my fear of writing too short chapters (l'incubo delle 5000 parole), to tolerate my oh so fun writer's block, to think about so many other scenes I’ll never write… you were as important to the plot and the unmissable details as I was.


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